


2929 Lake Terrace Avenue

by VitaeLampada



Series: Missing Pieces [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Secret Relationship, Spock/Uhura primary, Thanksgiving Break, special delivery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 36,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22529023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VitaeLampada/pseuds/VitaeLampada
Summary: In which our favourite couple (with the help of a certain Orion cadet, one starship captain and another member of the Grayson family) work out how to keep their relationship "under the radar" during their time at Starfleet Academy while still getting much needed one-on-one interludes, if you get my meaning.This is a standalone piece of Spyota/Spuhura fluff.  If you have never read any of my other stories, it will not matter one bit.I aim to update with a new chapter each week, usually on Sundays.  If life gets in the way of that schedule, I post a note on my Tumblr blog VitaeLampada.
Relationships: Spock/Nyota Uhura
Series: Missing Pieces [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1163702
Comments: 59
Kudos: 69
Collections: Spock and Nyota on AO3, Spock and Uhura Archive





	1. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of new words used in this chapter: 
> 
> Thelet – an Orion word of my invention. Don’t actually know what kind of garment this is, or if it’s very warm. 
> 
> Gorky – Just a made up brand name for a long, heavily quilted coat, named after the park in Moscow and who knows, maybe that’s where this fashion originated.

“Why now?” Gaila asked. 

The question surprised Nyota. Their suitcases lay open, side by side on one bed because the other was piled high with a certain person’s clothing. It wasn’t easy for Gaila to narrow down apparel options. She owned four coats – correction – one Academy issue parka and three fluffy Orion garments which might be more insulating than they appeared to be. All of these were being held high for Nyota’s appraisal.

The enquiry she expected from Gaila was, “Which one?” 

“What do you mean,” Nyota threw the question back, “why now?” 

“Why is First Contact celebrated in November? I was paging through my new Terran History textbook. It says First Contact happened on April 5th, and we already get a day off for that.” 

“Leave the parka,” Nyota decided. “The cold doesn’t bother you much. And you love that _thelet_ – it’s your favourite colour.” 

Gaila beamed, dropped the rejected coats on the floor and began folding the chosen one. 

“American thing,” Nyota answered the surprise question. “This holiday break existed long before First Contact. It used to be called Thanksgiving. It celebrated first contact between indigenous people on the east coast of North America and a small group of European settlers in the seventeenth century.” 

Gaila paused with the _thelet_ clasped to her chest, and seemed to be thinking. 

“Celebrated …?” she asked carefully. 

Nyota did not need to choose between her own coats. Academy parkas were too short. She owned a 15 tog Gorky that went down to her ankles. It also had an integral fleece snood, knee warmers and gloves. With the hood pulled up, she looked like a magenta penguin, but that was better than freezing. 

“I studied the seventeenth century in freshman year,” Gaila said. “I didn’t think that first contact went well.” 

Nyota just smiled, tucked her makeup bag between her hair kit and jewellery roll and shut her suitcase. 

“If you read further on in your textbook, you will get to the First Americans First movement,” she said. "And the reforms during Johnnie Jae’s presidency. That’s when the holiday changed name.” 

“Uh,” Gaila said absently. She was concentrating on three half cup bras, which had got tangled by their shoulder straps. From somewhere deep, deep underneath the fashion mountain on the bed behind them, Nyota heard the muffled sound of a familiar ringtone. 

“Uh oh,” Gaila said. 

The tune playing on Gaila’s PADD was the chorus from the hit grind single ‘Meld With Me’, a distinctly Orion interpretation of how Vulcans ‘do it’. It sold several billion downloads over most of the Federation markets, and Nyota hated it. But Gaila selected it for a reason -- only one of her many, many contacts could set off that ringtone when they called. And so Nyota did not complain but helped dig down, locate and retrieve the buried device. Then she stood, smoothed down her sweater and checked her hair (pointlessly) before Gaila took the call. 

The sound of his voice hurt. 

“Cadet Jadillu.” 

“Commander Spock,” Gaila responded.

"Twenty-two point five seconds elapsed before you picked up this call. I trust I have not interrupted at an inconvenient time."

"No sir, _no_ ," she insisted. "Never. But before you say more, could I please apologise for the way Boz Duarte questioned you after class? She knows perfectly well that I handle grading reviews as your Faculty Assistant. I think she may be upset with me because I invited _a different girl_ to join me for First Contact break.” 

Gaila winked at Nyota. 

Nyota smiled one of those brave, tight-lipped smiles, the kind made by those who sacrifice themselves for the greater good. She would have liked to observe Spock’s reaction. But as they had agreed, Gaila would not show her. 

“It is of no consequence,” she heard Spock reply. “I believe you deserve my apology. I must impose upon your free time and ask for assistance.” 

“Let me guess – the Enterprise prototype escape pods are ready.” 

“Correct. Unfortunately, they will not be available to collect from Development Engineering until 08:00 tomorrow. I cannot delay my own departure to make that detour.” 

“Problem anticipated,” Gaila said. “I have a courier on standby. Do you need me to call them right away? Only our cab will be here in half an hour, and I haven’t _quite_ finished packing.” 

“Lieutenant Commander Beardshaw informed me that Development will be working until 21:00 this evening. They are behind schedule with transporter controls.” 

“Fine. As soon as Cadet Uhura and I arrive at our destination, I will finalise arrangements.” 

“Thank you, Cadet. I wish you a pleasant First Contact break.” 

“I’d like to wish you the same, Commander. But it sounds like Captain Pike and the Enterprise-in-progress are going to monopolise your holiday.” 

“On the contrary,” Spock said, “I have been allowed a short time to visit some of my mother’s relatives.” 

Gaila probably thought it would be a kindness to ask him for names and familial relationships, draw out the conversation. But Nyota had reached her capacity for visual deprivation. She crawled over the mess on Gaila’s bed and shut herself in their hygiene station. 

Leaning against the shower stall, she thought about the upcoming break. Five days –- Wednesday to Sunday. That added up to one hundred and twenty hours, of which forty would be less challenging because she could spend them asleep. Forty-eight hundred conscious minutes. She added that to the ten thousand and eighty minutes already passed, where the closest she came to being in Spock’s company was a few seconds of eye contact during a student body assembly, when they were separated by four rows of seats. 

All this calculation ate up time. These were the tricks Nyota used to try and fool her brain; she also chewed food more slowly, allowed cups of tea to grow cold before her tiny sips could finish them. She had toyed with the idea of taking up needlepoint. Her cousin Irene swore by it when she was held up by flight delays. 

Then the door opened and interrupted her thoughts. 

“It’s over,” Gaila said. 

Nyota sighed. She was completely relieved and at the same time just wanted to scream.

“Aaahhhh!!” 

The sound seemed to contain more frustration when amplified by the tiles on the walls and floor. Then suddenly, the air seemed dense with a beautiful perfume. Pheromones. Her roommate had intensified her natural scent, to try and soothe. And Gaila pulled Nyota into her arms, held her close where the heady fragrance was stronger. 

“Sweetie,” the Orion said, “I would do anything to understand why this has to be so difficult. Spock was not calling from the office. I saw kitchen cupboards behind him. He is inside his apartment, which is … how far from us?” 

Nyota felt two of Gaila’s fingers start to walk across her shoulder blades. 

“Nine steps from our back door to the fence --,” 

The fingers mimed leaping into the air and landing again, a superhuman feat since the fence Gaila pretended to jump stood nearly two meters tall. Nyota had to carry one of their breakfast bar stools into the garden and vault herself over, not easy and certain to attract attention eventually, if cadets living in the other apartments happened to see. It wasn’t the biggest barrier to her love life, but high on the list. 

“Then once you get to the other side, nine steps more to _his_ door. Cutie Bootie, you have finished packing. You have twenty-four minutes until the taxi arrives, which leaves plenty of time for a quick --,” 

“Quick --,” Nyota interrupted, “-- Gaila, quick doesn’t work for us. I’ve told you that.” 

“You haven’t told me _why_.” 

Gaila’s fingers started to make a return journey, only this time they were stomping. 

“Just … just do whatever you have to do to keep me distracted," Nyota pleaded. "I swear, it is helping.” 

The walking hand stopped to pat Nyota’s back. 

“You are going to love it at the diner,” Gaila said. 

The 24th Street Diner served as home and working establishment for one branch of the Jadillu harem, Gaila’s equivalent of family. Some of them were biological relations; Nyota intended to learn who was who and how relationships worked between them. And improve her Orion. 

“Baby wants to give you a welcome manicure,” Gaila said. “And we will introduce you to the Buddhist monks next door.” 

“Your neighbours are Buddhist monks?” 

“They needed some of our parking spaces. They pay rent in noodles.” 

Nyota burst out laughing, and then said, "Thank you."

She pulled herself free so that Gaila could see her smile. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Gaila warned. 

“Why not?” 

“Ah well, maybe you are not the only one who needs to keep secrets,” the Orion wagged a finger in front of her face. “But I know you are going to like what I’ve prepared for this break. Do you trust me?” 

Appealing to curiousity. That was another mark in Gaila’s favour. 

“I trust you,” Nyota said. 


	2. Rendezvous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Chimeash Valley is the resort known in our time as Squaw Valley in California. Just like Thanksgiving, it was also renamed in the late 21st century.

Winter sun -- on clear mornings its intense light could generate an involuntary reaction. As soon as Spock came outside he felt his inner eyelids close, as they would on Vulcan, to protect him from the dawn glare. And yet there was no warmth. His car, parked on the drive, was covered in a fine mist. 

He stayed where he was and used his PADD to unlock the doors and activate the ignition. It allowed him to benefit from the heat which escaped the apartment lobby while the doors remained open. Then he put his gloves back on. Automatic subroutines began to clear the car windows and started the heater under the driving seat. 

Cadet Sudan Tyson, whose vehicle was parked in the adjacent driveway, chose to generate warmth by exertion, wiping down the windows with a chamois. 

“Oh -- morning, sir,” Tyson paused to turn round. “Didn’t think anyone else would be out so early.” 

“Good morning,” Spock replied. “I presume you have a considerable journey ahead?” 

Tyson nodded. “Booked on a freight shuttle to Orlando leaving at nine-twenty. Home is three hours by car from there. What about you?” 

“I will be delivering equipment to Starfleet shipyards in Iowa.” 

To demonstrate the veracity of his claim, Spock opened the trunk of the car and accessed the control panel in the roof. The push of a button detached both back seats and flattened them, to double the internal storage space. 

“That’s a long drive,” Cadet Tyson remarked. 

“Indeed,” Spock replied, closed the trunk and added, “Please be assured I have scheduled a number of breaks along the way.” 

Then he lifted his suitcase onto the front passenger seat. It was not his travelling companion of choice. But he secured it with the crossover safety belt, closed the door and let himself in on the driver's side. He put the car into motive gear and pulled out onto the road. The image of Cadet Tyson appeared in the rearview visor, waving. Spock returned the gesture of farewell. 

As he continued down Messier Way, the suitcase became an asset. Tyson was not the only student out early. Six cadets waited at Transit Stop 1405, and three more were steering remotely controlled bags along the sidewalk. All of them looked his way when the car approached. They would see his passenger seat and, if any rumours were circulating on campus about his private life (Cadet Jadillu assured him there were none, but one should never become complacent), their eye witness testimony would make it known that he appeared to be spending First Contact break with a piece of luggage. 

Traffic in San Francisco was unusually heavy. It took an additional seventeen minutes, twelve seconds to reach the Freeway turnpike. Spock joined a line of cars backed up around it. He asked the vehicle computer for its assessment, and learned that congestion was fifteen percent lower compared with the same time last year. He put the car into neutral. 

During his years as a cadet, this holiday held no appeal. Every November he remained on campus, remained inside the apartment to escape winter. Bovial Ch’ziaqis, his roommate, complained that San Francisco did not get cold enough and organised skiing breaks with his fellow Andorians at Chimeash Valley. Spock took advantage of the solitude to meditate longer and deeper, finish extra-credit assignments and turn up the heating. This was, therefore, his first true experience of the Terran celebration. 

He glanced over at his suitcase. It was easy to visualise Nyota occupying that seat, and the glance she might give him in return. Tempting, also, to speak his mind aloud as though she were present. What held him back was not logic but the vehicle ahead, which contained four Terran children. They had become increasingly restless in the slow-moving traffic, seemed to be searching for sources of diversion until they looked through their rear window and spotted him. Now they were pinching the helical curves of their ears, presumably to imitate his pointed ones. 

Then they began an improvised performance of dance, vocalisation and mock combat. Spock could not fathom the meaning of their actions, if any was being conveyed. But they provided a curious spectacle and succeeded in distracting him until their carrier reached the freeway entrance and merged into a space left by two freighters. 

Congestion eased gradually over the next eight kilometers. Once Spock reached permitted cruising speed he asked the car computer to record details of vehicles travelling the same direction and inform him whether, after an hour, any of them still followed.

They passed junctions intersecting highways 680, 179, 505 and 113. Upon reaching a town named Davis the computer informed him that one car – a 2250 model Enbarr Megatsu – had remained behind him all that way. 

Spock instructed the computer to take over controls and detour off the highway to the nearest business selling hot beverages with a drive through facility. The car left by the next exit. It took him to a collection of retail outlets signposted as “El Macero Center”, where he purchased a cup of Vietnamese green tea and availed himself of a parking space. 

According to the computer, the Megatsu did follow for a time. But whereas Spock went left at the first intersection off the turnpike, the other vehicle turned right. It did not reappear in short range scans while he was buying tea, or during the fifteen minutes he allowed himself to drink it. Satisfied, he asked the car to return him to the freeway and continue on towards Sacramento. 

His first meal was a scheduled stop in Roseville. Spock undertook considerable research in order to locate an eating establishment that would expose him to public observation, but not to the public. The Glass Menagerie was a fortunate discovery. Each dining booth in the restaurant was enclosed and transparent. Guests could choose whether or not to introduce the music, noise or food aromas from other tables into their space. Serving staff could see their customers, and customers could appraise the entire décor, the popularity of the venue, and the view beyond the restaurant, which overlooked a park. 

Spock brought his PADD into his booth. He used it to locate The Glass Menagerie’s surveillance points, and was pleased to note that two different scanners monitored him –- one above the entrance the waiter would use to deliver his food, and another along the wall of the main service concourse. Both would record him eating flatbread toast with black bean pate in solitude, while reading his latest issue of The InterQuadrant Journal of Information Technology. 

When he returned to the car, he placed a call to Cadet Jadillu. 

“Good morning Commander,” she said on connection, “have a good breakfast?” 

She had promised to attempt a hack into his vehicle systems, to test the manufacturer’s security barrier. It seemed clear she had been successful, knew precisely where he was and, if she had the perspective from the rearview visor, could see the restaurant. 

“How much time was required to gain access?” he asked. 

“Twenty-three minutes,” Gaila replied. 

“Highly inadequate defenses. I presume you have proposals for improvement.” 

“I do, Commander, and I can implement them remotely. But you must be calling for an update on the prototype escape pods. I can assure you they have been …,” 

She paused, then put stress on her next words. 

“... _very carefully_ packed. They won’t get so much as a scratch, no matter what happens during their trip. The courier collected them at 09:02.” 

“Where and when will I rendezvous with them?” Spock asked. 

Gaila fed the coordinates directly to the car computer, and switched modes to driverless. Spock became his own passenger. He watched as the car took him back to the freeway. Thirteen kilometers later it turned off again and headed north. It passed through two modest sized communities. Beyond that Spock saw little habitation, more trees, and only the occasional intersection.

The car computer chose to go east at one of these. It made a further two turns onto smaller side roads until it was driving over unpaved track. It stopped in a cleared, grassy area with a single set of treadmarks to indicate the place had been used for parking before. 

Spock appreciated how thorough Cadet Jadillu had been to get this level of seclusion. But the ground and trees here were coated in frost. He checked the scheduled rendezvous time, and turned up the car heating. 

The courier arrived eleven seconds early. Their vehicle, while not designed with deliveries in mind, was large and he had been told it functioned as a mobile Buddhist temple. The monk in the driver’s cabin wore only his robes, so Spock felt safe to presume the rest of the interior was kept at a comfortable temperature. 

Once the temple halted, four monks emerged from the back carrying the first of the sealed crates. Spock came out to meet them, opened the trunk. He noted and approved of the markings on that crate; the order of loading mattered. They refused his offer to help move the second container, coaxing him instead to stay with the car and keep it closed as much as possible. He thanked them for this consideration. 

After signing for the delivery, it seemed wiser to wait behind the wheel and let the mobile temple leave first. He stayed another three minutes and listened to the hum of the car heater compensating for the intrusion of cold air. Then he picked up his PADD and connected it to the diagnostic systems within each of the sealed escape pods. One was completely inactive. The other had full life support operative, and an open communication channel. 

He sent a hail and waited. 

“Spock?” 

Sound quality was not to standard. But fine tuning could wait ... it was enough just to hear her voice.

“Correct,” he replied. “If you are comfortable, I would suggest you remain in your current location.” 


	3. Unison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter courtesy of https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/ 
> 
> Keshtan-ur: vagina   
> Lok: penis

“You and Gaila,” Nyota spoke through the open channel. “Just imagine what a team the two of you would make, if you ever decided to become professional smugglers. Or spies.” 

Spock fitted his PADD into its holder on the dashboard. He returned the car to driver control. 

“You would be prepared to fraternise with a pair of smugglers?” he asked. 

As he eased the car off the grass, back onto the dirt track, he heard Nyota sigh. 

“Fraternise …,” she said. And then, after one hundred and twenty meters travelled in silence, she added, “I swear the Academy Fraternisation Policy is the only rule I have ever been tempted to ignore.” 

“I believe we are ignoring it,” Spock replied. But he knew he had detoured round the real issue. It was not easy to be what they wanted to be for each other, and also what they wanted to be for Starfleet. 

Nyota, the product of a Vulcan upbringing, albeit by legal guardian, seemed to understand what he did not say. Perhaps she knew it did not need to be said. She changed the subject. 

“I don’t know where I am. Or where I am going.” 

Facts were less problematic. Spock could talk about them.

“Your pod is equipped with its own navigation system,” he said. 

“Navigation -- my speciality.” 

Spock made no comment. He disagreed with Nyota's low estimation of her ability to calculate spatial positions and plot trajectories. Within thirty-six seconds she announced that they were two hundred and fifteen kilometers northeast of San Francisco, and approaching the town of Dew Drop. 

“May I programme in the coordinates of our destination?” she asked. 

“I believe a street address will suffice. Input 2929 Lake Terrace Avenue in Tahoe City, California.” 

Conversation paused. The car went through Dew Drop and then through Cherry Creek Acres. Traffic lights in the next town, Alta Sierra, turned red. As Spock drew to a halt the sound which transmitted from his PADD was a softly spoken, “Wow.” 

“Your expression suggests you have found the property --,” 

“Found it and some exterior photographs. It’s … who owns this place?.” 

“I do.” 

As they travelled through Alta Sierra, La Burr Meadows and Grass Valley he explained how the land was originally purchased by his maternal grandfather, Maitland Grayson, who built a cabin there, and a boathouse. They were sturdy buildings, spartan and compact. 

“After his death, Maitland’s children became joint owners. I believe my mother and her first husband stayed in the cabin a number of times, during Terran school holidays.” 

Nyota did not ask a question about the first husband. It was possible she already possessed this background information. 

“But after my mother bonded with my father, the cabin seemed unsuitable, having too many associations with her former marriage. Also, the single fireplace did not provide adequate heat for a Vulcan.” 

“Entirely unacceptable,” Nyota remarked. 

“My parents approached my uncle Andrew, to offer him my mother’s part of the property. It was Andrew who suggested they rebuild.” 

“What I'm seeing is not a cabin,” Nyota said. “Did your father choose the plans? For some reason it makes me think of the house in Shi’Kahr.” 

“I believe he made some suggestions. But the design was my uncle’s concept, and he carried out a significant amount of the construction. He found it a satisfying occupation for his leisure time.” 

“How long did it take to build?” 

“Three years, four months and six days. You must allow for the fact that work was episodic. The structure itself was completed within a single summer, but Andrew was particular in his attention to interior details.” 

“I cannot wait to see.” 

The road was on higher ground now, passing over the deep river gorge of Nevada City. They were entering the lower elevation hills of the Cascade Mountains. 

Nyota sighed. “I mean I really cannot wait. Spock, when I activate the external sensors in this pod the only view I get is the inside of this crate.” 

“Understood.” 

He pulled off the highway and parked as soon as he found space. Then he connected Nyota’s sensors with the car’s computer. This would give her a choice of viewing options. 

“I trust your visual input has improved?” he asked. 

He heard her giggle. The sound had a peculiar physiological effect. Spock shifted in his seat. 

“Improved significantly,” she said. “Do you mind being watched?” 

The physiological effect became stronger, unmistakable. It might be prudent to remain parked. 

“Are you able to see me?” she asked. 

“That is possible,” he said, “but perhaps not wise.” 

“Umm...,” 

That particular sound, humming dragged out thoughtfully, caused more bodily disruption. She repeated it twice more, by which time Spock was fighting unsuccessfully against his own erection, and grateful for the length of his coat. 

“Spock?” 

“Nyota.” 

“Is this becoming as much of a problem for you as it is for me?” 

“I am uncertain of your meaning,” he said, pursing his lips against a surge of blood he failed to control. 

“It’s been so long. Honestly, is there no way --,” 

“Although we are off--,” he paused, he believed, before his voice would have the distinctive rattle betraying his own desire.

“Although we are off the highway, I have parked on a B-class road which would be under surveillance.” 

“You can raise visual shields over the car windows.” 

“Insufficient protection. For you to exit the pod, I would need to get out and open the trunk.” 

“I wasn’t thinking about leaving,” Nyota said. 

Her thoughts, once explained, made it impossible for him to do anything else. Spock raised the visual shields to black out the car windows, programmed the PADD so that he could see her, all of her, lying on her back inside the pod. They agreed to act in unison. Nyota opened her long, quilted coat when he opened his. They unfastened their respective trousers at the waistband and fly, put their hands inside their own undergarments. He obeyed her instructions to display his _lok_ and agreed to stimulate himself with specified hand motions. 

When he raised a concern about leaving stains on his clothing, she suggested he repurpose his gloves. There was no time to consider how he would clean them. Nyota’s image could not be ignored. She canted her pelvic floor and seemed to thrust her hips at the sensor array, while her own fingers penetrated her _keshtan-ur_. He came to orgasm watching her –- then came again by masturbating to the rhythm of her regular output of pleasured exclamations. 

It was still necessary to get out of the car and into the cold air, in order to make use of the sonic sanitiser within the empty escape pod. Sexual relief, and the body heat generated to obtain it, made the lower temperature more bearable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Readers,
> 
> I didn't quite make Valentine's Day, but I figure you probably won't mind.


	4. Impact

Nyota cleaned her hands, tidied her clothes. An empty driver’s seat was the view she now had, displayed on the 140mm square screen level with her eyeline. She embraced herself, trying to be her own substitute for his arms. 

Spock returned to the car, started the engine and steered them back onto the highway. Nyota asked the pod computer for an estimate of their remaining journey time, if they maintained the average speed from the last ten kilometres. 

“Approximately one hour and fifteen minutes.” 

Seventy-five minutes in total, or four thousand, five hundred seconds. That was nothing, was it, compared to the tens of thousands of seconds that had already passed? 

But she could see his face again. His jaw had relaxed; his pupils contracted. Cold had condensed the air he’d exhaled outside and left pinpoint droplets of water on his brows, nose and mouth. Now and again his eyes would shift from the road to glance at the dashboard, at whatever he knew was capturing his image and feeding it through to her. There was a whole conversation in those eyes, waiting to be had. 

But they would need to find a place to park again, if they let that happen. What could they talk about instead? 

Then suddenly, the pod computer told her that their travel speed was decreasing. Spock turned the steering wheel. Nyota felt the suspension compensate for a bumpy surface and then, after a few seconds, they came to a stop. 

Through the open comms channel she heard him explain. 

“I have an order to collect from this establishment. It should not detain me for longer than a few minutes.” 

Empty driver’s seat once again. Nyota checked all the accessible external views, found one that fed live images from the roof. That allowed her to watch Spock as he walked across an unpaved parking area, a clearing made in the woods, and headed towards a timber building. It had sharply sloped roof peaks and an old-fashioned door with a handle for manual operation. And yet it pulled itself open before Spock reached it. Someone Nyota could not see must have been waiting for him. She saw his head turn when he entered, as if to acknowledge that someone. 

To pass the time she rotated the roof scanner. She discovered the sign which told her this establishment was the Harmony Ridge Market. Six other vehicles waited in the unpaved lot, including a hoverplough. It might have work to do soon. Snow, fine as confetti, was carried on a breeze and leaving a layer like gauze over every horizontal surface. 

In the forest behind the lot she saw cabins. Perhaps they were like the one Maitland Grayson built – compact, easy to heat boxes with walls that seemed to be fashioned from whole tree trunks. 

When Spock appeared again, she saw he had company. An Andorian walked with him, carrying a box which, when they reached the car, was unloaded into the front passenger side, down in the foot well because the Andorian had to squat. Nyota found this curious, since anything an Andorian could carry Spock could just was well. Curiouser still, there was dialogue afterwards. The Andorian’s body language was open, gesturing. Spock maintained eye contact, never indicating by glance or movement that he would prefer the comfort of the car to resume his journey. 

It seemed the ideal subject to keep their minds occupied. As soon as Spock was back in the car, Nyota said, “You two know each other.” 

“Indeed,” Spock replied. “This business has belonged to Esharib Th’qevik’s clan since 2211. My grandfather, mother and uncle have been regular customers. Esharib and I met as a result of their continued patronage. We have known each other as children.” 

“So how many times have you travelled on this road to Tahoe City?” 

“This is the fourteenth occasion.” 

Nyota asked him to tell her about the first time. It turned out this had also been his first visit to Earth, when he was four years old. What aspects of Terra, she wanted to know, made the greatest impression on him? 

“Trees,” he said, “since these botanical forms do not exist on Vulcan. My mother taught me to distinguish deciduous from conifer and identify the local species by their scientific and colloquial names.” 

He climbed his first tree in Tahoe City. It was an attempt to keep pace with a Douglas squirrel, an endeavour which had to be abandoned as soon as Spock realised the rodent could leap from the branches of one tree to another. 

Fresh water also interested him, the water of Lake Tahoe itself. Maitland Grayson’s cabin may have been dismantled, but the boathouse was preserved along with the cuddy cabin sailer it was made to contain. Uncle Andrew explained to young Spock that the name of the craft, Marnock Road, was the London address where his maternal grandfather grew up. Over the course of that Terran summer, Spock learned how to pilot and maintain Marnock Road. 

She made him talk about that learning in detail, though she knew nothing about sailing and had to interrupt to ask for explanations -- what were cleats, what was the difference between ploughing and planing and where exactly was the drain plug located? Spock revealed a third fascination for marine knots. He listed so many Nyota gave up trying to remember them, used the pod computer to watch a vid instead, demonstrating how to tie clove and half clove hitches. 

One hour and fifteen minutes passed painlessly. Nyota let herself cheer over the comms channel when the computer paused the video to announce they had arrived at their destination. 

Then she felt the car tip sharply, like they had driven over the crest of a steep rise. That soon levelled out and the car’s engine cut. The view from the roof, when she switched over to it, went completely black. 

“Prepare to disembark,” Spock told her. 

He might have warned her what she should actually prepare for. She felt the crate which held her pod shift and lift and angle such that, when she sensed its impact with another solid surface, Nyota knew that surface was no longer beneath her back but under her feet. 

The pod compression lock hissed. The hatch moved away from her body, shifted itself aside to clear the opening. Except there was no getting out. Spock was right there, as close as he could be until there was nothing between them and then he came closer. 

His lips met hers ever so gently, but the impact ... 

Kissing Spock was not like other kinds of kissing. Nyota could claim only scant experience – a few human boyfriends and Gaila once (pre-Spock, when the Orion became so exasperated with Nyota's non-existent love life she accused her roommate of having no idea how to perform the act). But kissing a half-Vulcan was more than physical. It connected their mouths and their minds. 

Strictly speaking, it was seven kisses, seven feather light brushes which Spock alternated carefully between her upper and lower lips. His relief, joy and excitement felt ticklish but bearable. His frustration – how thousands and thousands of minutes apart had tortured him, how the yearning banked up and how desire burned him like fuel – Nyota felt that current through her teeth. 

After those seven kisses, which would have appeared tame to any human eye, Nyota was quivering inside, a biochemical time bomb wired up by his need mixed with hers. She put a hand against his brestbone and pushed him away. 

“I think ...,” she started to say, but then the complete sentence vanished from her mind. 

Spock said, “Agreed,” and retreated, stepping backwards to give her room to exit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about Marnock Road - at some point in the past, English Trek fans must have decided that Amanda Grayson was a Londoner (probably acting on a line Leonard Nimoy says in "The Undiscovered Country", where Spock seems to claim that he is descended from Arthur Conan Doyle). There is a blue plaque above the door of a house in Marnock Road purporting to be the place she lived (see photograph and article at https://londonist.com/london/secret/spock-star-trek-plaque-london-amanda-grayson).  
> I'm not too bothered myself about whether or not this is 'canon' (like who even knows what that word really means). But I needed a unique name for Maitland Grayson's boat, and it just sounded right. It also gives me an excuse to set a future Spuhura story in London -- a less rainy London, because that would qualify as a fantasy scenario right now!


	5. Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The layout of Spock’s family property at Lake Tahoe is based on the floor plans at this link: https://houseplansandmore.com/homeplans/houseplan071D-0123.aspx 
> 
> With some differences.

Nyota stepped out onto the floor of her new location and confirmed what she had guessed. 

“This is the garage.” 

In addition to exterior photographs, the escape pod provided her with floor plans for 2929 Lake Terrace Avenue. Nyota suspected this information was not Starfleet standard issue, but it was good to have her bearings already. 

Spock returned to the car and came back carrying his PADD horizontally, like a plate. A fine chain bracelet with a single bead charm lay on top. 

“Your key,” he held out the PADD. 

Nyota smiled. Nanosecurity devices didn’t usually look pretty. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

She fastened the bracelet around her wrist, grateful for the manicure she got at the diner because her nails matched the glossy black bead. Spock opened the escape pod locker to get her suitcase. Then he fetched his own luggage and carried both across two empty parking bays. 

“You will note an ulterior motive behind my presentation,” he said, and inclined his head meaningfully towards the door which led into the house. 

If she had intended to keep her excitement in check, her feet betrayed her -- too much spring in her first steps. That was almost under control by the time she reached the door. Almost. When the sensors detected her security bead and released the lock, Nyota grinned and hurried inside. 

“Oh!” 

Floor plans, of course, are just monochrome lines labelled with their dimensions. Nyota knew that the wall she now faced was five meters wide by two and a half meters tall. Capable of holoprojection, it seemed vastly larger. The wall looked like an illusion, a portal leading into a garden, a garden Nyota recognised because it was Amanda Grayson’s garden on Vulcan. 

She heard Spock take the stairs up to the next floor, but did not follow. The holoprojection changed. Pixels dissolved and redefined themselves as the iconic Andorian sculptures in the San Francisco Botanical Gardens. Nyota watched it transform twice more. She saw a garden suspended from the ceiling of an office reception foyer, a street with hydroponic stepped planters that spiralled around streetlights, a coffee shop that harvested beans from a rainforest biome surrounding the seating area. 

When Spock returned she asked him about the next transformation. 

“These are the restored public gardens at Sidi Bel Abbes, Algeria,” he said. “My uncle served with the project team.” 

“Has he worked on all these gardens?” 

“To one degree or another,” Spock replied. “It is more typical for Andrew to have the projector set for static presentation. These are live feeds from the locations. Longer observation allows for greater appreciation of details and change over time. I modified the setting.” 

That was when Nyota finally took note of the furniture. One generous armchair with what looked like an old, favourite sweater draped over the back. A drawing table, one meter square, leaned against the wall opposite the holoprojection. Beside that a corner replicator, the kind with menus limited to beverages and snacks. 

“So, this --,” she waved a hand to indicate the adjoining bedroom and hygiene station she remembered from the plans. “This is Andrew's part of the house?” 

“Affirmative.” 

“The man who built this house sleeps in the basement? Next to the garage?” 

“It has always been my understanding that Andrew prefers accommodation below ground. His home in Seattle is an integral part of the land it occupies. He refers to it as his ‘hobbit hole’. My mother has often used the phrase ‘my brother is sprouting something in potting soil’ to describe the occasions he is resident here.” 

Nyota shook her head. “Your uncle sounds interesting.” 

“I am pleased you think so. You will meet him soon.” 

Nyota spun round, surprised. When? But Spock had returned to the garage. She peeked through the door and saw him making system adjustments to the open pod, erasing the record of her occupation, perhaps. That would need some time. She decided to explore, and took the stairs to the next floor. 

Once there, it was clear what made Nyota compare this place to the house in Shi’Kahr where Spock’s parents lived. There were so many windows there and here, of different sizes, to let in light. Recognisably Vulcan textiles had been imported for rugs and curtains, cushion covers and throws. Floor tiles laid over the entrance hall matched those Nyota remembered from her short visit during midterm break. The same ones had been in Amanda’s study. 

And just as there were different areas in Ambassador Sarek’s home for formal and familial activity, so it was here. To the right of the stairs Nyota discovered a reception room with furnishings that looked unused, an adjoining music room with theatre seats and dais. To the left, an individed kitchen and family room. And just as it was on Vulcan, here one could also eat meals in different locations: one table in the dining room, another in the nook and a third Nyota could see through french doors, out on the covered deck. 

“Not much use in winter,” she said to herself. 

But the sight of Lake Tahoe was a draw. Nyota pulled up the hood of her Gorky coat, slipped on her gloves and aimed her security bead at the sliding doors. 

Cold air felt sharp. She paused a moment, once outside, to get used to breathing it. Her view was obscured by the vapour she exhaled, but that didn’t take away from the beauty. More snow had fallen here. Tree limbs sagged with heavy, dripping loads of it. Someone had cleared the paths that snaked their way between the trunks. Nyota picked out a trail that came right up to the deck steps, travelled along it with her eyes and soon spotted the boathouse. The lake around it was mirror smooth, the colour of faded denim. 

Then her eyes chose a different path. This one was longer and so the trees eventually obscured its destination. But it seemed to be following the curve of the lake and headed in the direction of the next property. Warm wood and tall windows were the only features of that house Nyota could make out. A satisfying distance. 

But just to be sure, Nyota turned to check whether there were closer neighbours on the other side of 2929 Lake Terrace Avenue. She leaned out over the deck as far as she could, saw nothing except trees and snow. 

Her gloved hands made muffled clapping, not like the full volume delight she felt. She went back inside the house, saw Spock. He stood at the kitchen island, unpacking food from the box collected at Harmony Ridge Market. 

He received a hug from behind. 

“It’s perfect,” she said, pressing her face into the back of his coat. 

In his faculty tone of voice, Spock replied. 

“Please clarify.” 

Nyota laughed. Without releasing her hold she twisted her own body, forced him to stop unpacking and lift his arm so that she could swivel round and place herself between him and the countertop. 

“Not our kind of weather. We will definitely need to stay indoors …,” 

She gave his body her strongest squeeze. 

“No faculty eyes to see us together.” 

Spock put down the containers he was holding and embraced her. 

“Will you need much longer to --,” 

Before she could finish Spock tilted his head and cut off her words with a kiss. A lingering one. He broke it with a sound that perhaps, Nyota imagined, Vulcan males had been making for centuries in reaction to the taste of their lovers. Satisfaction and lack of satisfaction, all in one deep-throated growl. 

Touch telepathy told him what she would have asked, if she had been allowed to finish her question. 

“Perishable foodstuffs have been stored,” he said. His voice quivered. 

“Then let’s go upstairs,” she murmured, “so you can overindulge.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this chapter during the week, and so I'm hoping to give you all a bonus and publish TWO chapters before the weekend is over. I have to, really. It would be cruel to leave you waiting a week for our OTP to get upstairs!


	6. Zhisnala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter:
> 
> zhisnala - literally "steam room". But this is my invention, to create a Vulcan term for sauna  
> vazh-mev - urethra, the opening at the tip of the penis  
> sa-nei-masu - semen  
> lok - penis

_“Gaila, quick doesn’t work for us. I’ve told you that.”_

_“You haven’t told me why.”_

But it did not seem right to share with a non-Vulcan what Vulcans hardly shared among themselves. ‘Need to know’ was the basis for imparting certain secrets, and most Vulcan secrets were about sex. When Nyota decided it was time to offer Spock more than occasional kisses, 'need to know' came with only minutes to spare. 

Spock carried her to the second floor of the house. Nyota’s bracelet opened double doors to what could only be the master suite. More doors were waiting inside, open to show off the generous dressing closet and a sedately decorated room beyond with a fireplace in the corner and meditation cushions on the carpet. 

Nyota smiled. Mental discipline time was over. The bedroom walls were seductive, painted kalamata mauve and the bed had a canopy of heavy, purple drapery. Spock set her down at the foot of it, watched her part the curtains and sit on the mattress to feel its quality. 

Heat – strong, delicious heat – radiated through an arched opening in the wall she now faced. 

“Is that a sauna?” she asked. 

The interior reminded her, somewhat, of the escape pod. The chamber inside the archway verged on cylindrical; its walls curved. A broad bench occupied the middle of the floor. 

“ _Zhisnala_ ,” Spock corrected her. “A Vulcan technology – Terran infrared saunas would be the nearest equivalent.” 

Nyota breathed in the air and immediately opened the full length of her coat. 

There was no ceremony to their undressing. Spock copied her the way he had in the car. They removed coats, boots, socks, sweaters, shirts, trousers, thermal base layers and underwear together. Nyota stepped into the _zhisnala_ first. She approved of the shutters drawn across the windows, the display screen that alternated between fluid colour animations and readouts showing temperature and humidity. She paused at the ledge of an inset shelf, crowded with bottles of oil. 

They had not agreed on a signal. Nyota jingled her bracelet and Spock appeared as though summoned. 

“Choose one,” she said, pointing to the bottles. 

Her left fingertips tiptoed through his chest hairs while he made a selection. The attention made his _lok_ grow longer and thicker. She drizzled oil on the shaft and coated the erection by hand, praised his noises of satisfaction, applied a second coat. Then she steered him to the bench, told him to stay standing while she sat down. She put her mouth over his glans and lapped his _vazh-mev_ over and over, heard her name repeated over and over. His legs splayed. She felt her way along the inside of his thigh, nudged and smoothed the globes of his testicles. 

There was feeling and feeling, sensation with emotion, escaping through his skin like the early warning leak of fluid from his head. Nyota had all the information for perfect timing, to pull back her mouth at the right moment and let his spurts of _sa-nei-masu_ land on her cheeks and throat and shoulders, trickle over her breasts. 

When he recovered, Spock got down on his knees and begged for permission to clean her. 

“Keep it above the jawline,” she stipulated. 

This was the secret Gaila could not know. Vulcan males achieved a natural high from tasting their lover’s skin. Spock would develop a tolerance for Nyota, depending how often he could sample her and recover, without betraying this secret. 

Obediently, he confined his attention to her face, where the stimulating effect was milder. Nyota was learning to identify, by telepathic feedback, the incremental progress of his intoxication. In the earliest stages he always became a little mischievous. He did not stop once he had taken away the traces of his ejaculation. He started kissing where she was already clean – pecking the bridge of her nose, licking the curve of one eyebrow, pressing hard on her mouth to try and get his tongue inside. 

Half-seriously, she would push him away. 

“Behave,” she warned. 

She got a smile, and dark eyes with a sly glint. 

“I believe it is appropriate,” he argued, “to offer you equivalent stimulation.” 

Nyota brushed his lips with her thumb and let him suck on that a few seconds. 

“I believe,” she said, “that Vulcans are also very good with their hands.” And she told him to fetch a different bottle of oil. 

“Slowly,” she added, “so I get something to watch.” 

He leaned in very close, before he stood. His chest bumped against her nose and she held the connection. As his body rose she savoured the smell of skin and the friction of the drag. He pulled away when she was eye level with his erection once again. The sight of it provoked a sigh and the thought of how her roommate might react if she knew the truth. 

_Gaila, this is the other reason quick does not work for us. Vulcans have … considerable stamina._

Then Spock turned away, to walk back to the inset shelf. But he cast a look over his shoulder, saw her swing her legs up onto the bench and lie down on her back. Pretending came more naturally to him than people might think. He toyed with the bottles on the shelf, not to make a choice but to produce music with the sounds of glass. There was a seductive little dance to go with it, gentle shifts of his weight from one hip to the other, an occasional clenching of gluteus muscles that made Nyota bite her lip and shove her own hand between her legs. 

And Spock could tease. He turned, caught her in this act of impatient masturbation, and said, “Perhaps my services are no longer required.” 

She snapped. “Get up on this bench. Now.” 

But he did not hurry. There was no doubt he understood where her gaze was fixed, because he clasped the base of his _lok_ and coaxed more blood to fill it, turned it a deeper shade of green. He stopped alongside the bench -- just out of reach, Nyota realised, because she tried and failed. 

Slowly, he poured oil over the hand between her legs, over her stomach and chest. The excess ran down both sides of her body, puddled on the bench cushion, but he did not stop. He doused her bikini line, her thighs, her knees. By the time the bottle was placed on the floor, it was empty. 

Then he climbed onto the bench, straddled her, and massaged all of that oil into her skin. His touch had a slow fadeout. After a few minutes Nyota could feel him everywhere. 

He let her give herself one climax ... well, in truth she whined when he tried to move her hand. She was more accommodating after that, spread her legs so that he could creep between them and provide something more substantial than fingers to fit inside her. 


	7. Superabundance

“Love me?” Nyota asked. 

She could not understand what Spock said in response. He was under the influence of too many kisses now, flat on his back, legs and arms spread-eagled. But he spoke softly and puckered his lips when he finished, as though convinced he was being kissed. 

A generous supply of cushions had been arranged over their canopy bed. Most fell on the floor, forced off by two bodies that crashed onto the mattress and needed all the available space. When Spock had tasted enough of her to start hallucinating, he fixated on one of the survivors, a small satin square. The cushion became a part of Nyota, to his mind. He would not let it go until coordination failed and he could no longer get a grip on anything. 

It rested on his chest. Nyota pushed it aside, bent over his face and turned his imaginary kiss into a real one. By touch she could sense how, gradually, this final dose of herself sent him to sleep. 

That done, she got out of bed. She picked up the comforter, which had also been displaced, and tucked it all around her lover's body to be sure he would stay warm. 

Then Nyota returned to the sauna. Spock left the display panel fixed on the self-cleaning routine, so she could start it. Micro-robots descended from the ceiling dispenser just as he'd described. She let them work, carried on through the door beside the display, and relived the moment she first laid eyes on their ensuite bathroom. 

She had never seen a hygiene facility this size. The shower was built for four; the feeds could supply water or sonics. After oily lovemaking, the two of them intended to wash. But with all that space, they succumbed to temptation, took sneaky shots at each other with the handheld sprays until their activity appeared more like a soapy gunfight. 

Nyota took a second, more businesslike, shower this time. She made a sarong from a clean towel and stood in front of the vanity counter, two and a half meters of imported Vulcan stone. The surface remained cluttered with bottles, jars, tubes and tubs – all the contents she discovered and pulled out from the cupboards under the basins. There were five different kinds of lubricant. 

“Expecting a shortage?” she asked Spock, pointing to each container. 

The water fight had satisfied his sense of mischief. Kisses had taken him on to the clinging stage. He followed her out of the shower and kept his body as close to hers as she would allow. When she raised the question, he was pressed against her back, arms crossed over her stomach. He nuzzled her shower cap. 

“C’det Jadillu,” he broke the elastic with his teeth and paused to watch the cap fall on the floor, “ordered and delivered.” 

“Gaila has seen this place? Before me?!” 

He understood jealousy, even when tipsy. He apologised by fondling her right nipple -- his touch feeling smoother because it conveyed regret. Nyota could watch their reflection in the sweeping vanity mirror.

“T’was …,” 

His enunciation, normally impeccable, slipped here and there. But Spock’s hands remained expert. 

“ … imperative to provide whateveryoudesired,” he chuckled at the way his own words ran into each other. 

“Well,” she replied, pushing against him. “That seems logical.” 

And Nyota kept on pushing until she had his _lok_ tucked snug between the cleavage of what Gaila liked to call, ‘the sweetest ass in the galaxy'. Then she chose the largest tube of lubricant, opened it, commandeered the hand on her nipple and turned the fingers up so she could cover them generously. 

“Don’t stop what you’re doing,” she said. “And I have a job for your other hand.” 

Vulcan strength was pure turn on. Both hands lubed, Spock put one between her thighs to give pleasure and lift her off the floor simultaneously. Nyota came in mid-air, secure in his grip and knowing she could writhe and kick and make all the make noise she wanted. When she finished, he set her back on her feet. She watched her reflection panting. 

Her reflection now was serene, satisfied in every possible way. She unfastened the top knot in her hair, fed it some thoughtfully provided conditioner and combed out tangles. Gaila had gone crazy buying headgear – an entire drawer was stuffed full with elastics, bobby pins, headbands, caps, scarves. Nyota picked out a knitted pink turban that was as warm as it was comfortable. A dentabit with her name printed on the box cleaned her teeth. She found and applied moisturiser and lip gloss, daubed her pulse points with a perfume called ‘ _Gazah_ ’, replaced the towel with one of the dressing gowns hanging on the wall behind her. 

Not surprisingly, the bedroom replicator menu included a sweater to match the turban. After getting dressed, she checked Spock one last time, kissed him between his closed eyes. 

“Just getting something to eat,” she told him. And then she let herself out of the master suite, closing the double doors quietly. 

Halfway down the stairs, she stopped. Listened. 

Couldn’t be. 

Nyota came down three more steps, listened some more. 

Could it? 

She thought intruder, initially. But the security system had to be better than that and anyway, thieves didn’t normally play subspace radio stations while they worked, or sing along badly to the playlist. With that thought, she finished the stairs and marched into the kitchen. 

She met the singer from behind, and in a compromised position, crouched at the open oven door, pulling out a lidded cassarole. His sweatshirt had “University of Washington” printed on the back. 

Nyota recalled a University coffee mug beside the drawing table in the basement apartment. 

“Spock,” the intruder broke off singing to speak, “I can explain.” 

He set the cassarole on a trivet, turned around. His face was a less dramatic version of Amanda Grayson’s -- genetics chose lighter shades of brown for his brows and eyes. But he could open those eyes wide and that was the surprised expression Nyota received. Then Andrew groaned. 

“Oh no,” he said, “not you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Gazah”, the name of the perfume, is the Orion word for orgasm (according to me).


	8. Koskinen

_Feeling’s mutual, Mr. Grayson._

Nyota kept that thought to herself. She wanted to meet Spock’s uncle, meet _any_ of his human relatives. But intimate time was so hard to get. It didn’t seem wrong to feel selfish, not now. 

“Oh hi,” she was pleased how casual she sounded. “Spock did mention --,” 

“Yeah, tomorrow. But then the forecast changed – polar vortex is going to swing further south and west. Soon as I knew I got in the car to stay ahead of the weather. Where is he?” 

“Uh --,” Nyota shut her mouth before that expression betrayed her. “Meditating.” 

“Course,” Andrew took the lid off the cassarole and the escaping steam smelled good. “Explains why he didn’t pick up my calls.” 

Nyota smiled with her mouth closed.

“Look,” Andrew said, “I hate to be blunt, because we've hardly met. But this is a problem.” 

_It sure is, Mr. Grayson_. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

Before he could answer, an electronic chime sounded. Nyota looked around, mystified. 

“You’re about to find out.” 

Andrew put down the pot lid, removed his oven gloves. Nyota followed him, reluctantly, as he jogged towards the entryway. She halted as soon as she realised he was about to open the front door. 

“Valerie ...,” she heard him say. Instinctively, Nyota backtracked towards the kitchen. But she saw the amount of snow that blew inside. Andrew would not be conducting this conversation on the step. 

“... come on in.” 

What came inside was another Gorky coat in cobalt blue, worn by a taller person so it covered them to their knees. Gloved hands removed the hood and snood, brushed snow out of thick, steel grey hair. Then Nyota saw the face, and her memory started racing. 

_Why do I think I recognise her?_

The visitor surveyed her immediate surroundings, glanced at the open doors to the formal reception room.

“Very nice,” she said. “Andrew, let’s forget having coffee here. I think it would be better if you and Commander Spock came and stayed at my place tonight, what with the weather that’s on its way. I have extra beds that are just going to sit empty, so --,” 

“Oh no,” Andrew protested. “No need. You’re only next door.” 

“But Vulcans aren’t big fans of winter, are they? Wouldn’t it – oh.” 

Nyota had been spotted. She had not put a name to the caller's face, but something was telling her to be very, very cautious. She folded her hands behind her back and came forward slowly. 

Andrew Grayson looked defeated and maybe a little desperate as he turned to watch her approach. “Uh ..., yes. Come say hello to our new neighbour at 2931.” 

And as she drew closer, Nyota's subconscious mind finally came up with information. A small article -- it had appeared at the bottom of the weekly Academy newsletter. By the time she held out her hand to be shaken, Nyota recalled the woman’s name and rank and the position she would assume at Starfleet Headquarters in the New Year. 

But she played dumb, and let Andrew do the talking. 

“Uh, Uhura, this is Admiral Valerie Koskinen. She is going to become the … what was it again?” 

_Head of Terran Intelligence._

“Head of Terran Intelligence,” Valerie said. 

* * *

He told Valerie that Spock was meditating. He told her the sitting could last hours – that Spock had come to Tahoe specifically (was it his imagination, or did her expression seem doubtful?) to practice more demanding Vulcan techniques for altering consciousness. And (this was a complete lie) he said it would be medically harmful to bring his nephew out of trance quickly. It should only be attempted in real emergencies. 

All the while, Cadet Uhura stood as still as a lifesize doll. Admiral Koskinen, quite rightly, interrupted him. He was starting to repeat himself. 

“It’s fine, Andrew,” she said. “I completely understand. But you didn’t finish your introduction. I heard you say Uhura. Excuse me for asking, but are you related to a Nyota Uhura? We have a cadet enrolled in the --,” 

“I am Cadet Uhura,” Uhura said. 

Andrew waited. That was one big, fat cat out of the bag. Now what? 

“I see,” the Admiral said, in a tone of voice that sounded far, _far_ too interested. “And what brings you here?” 

Spock’s significant other glanced in his direction. No idea why -- he could not help her. One moment she wore her expressionless dollface and then, in a blink, Uhura was beaming at him like he had grown wings and a halo. She sashayed (he did not exaggerate) across the floor until she was right alongside, into his personal space and beyond. She grabbed his hand. 

“Andy and I …,” she said. 

He hated being called Andy. 

“We’ve been seeing each other … when we can, of course,” Uhura went on. Her best impression of infatuation was convincing and terrifying. 

“I’m trying to think how long it’s been,” she looked at the floor, as if this false memory would come to her. “Before I enrolled.” 


	9. Contaminated

“Why the hell did you do that?” he asked.

Nyota wanted to throw the same question right back at Andrew Grayson. The instant Admiral Koskinen was out the door, she released his hand. Now he was wiping it against his sweatshirt as if she’d contaminated it.

“Spock will kill me,” he added.

“Yeah,” Nyota retorted, “for inviting senior Starfleet personnel to visit!”

“Well maybe if I’d been _told_ \--,”

He realised what he was doing with his hand and stopped, sighed.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I think my sister has lived on Vulcan too long.”

Nyota watched him walk around her, a nice wide arc so that he was out of her reach. She followed him back to the kitchen, to the abandoned cassarole pot.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean all I got from Amanda was one subspace message to say ‘Spock met someone’. She should know better, or know her son better. Spock hasn’t told me anything.”

Nyota shook her head. “But you recognised me. Knew my name.”

“Okay,” Andrew admitted, “my sister included a photo – must have been your student ID picture. But nobody said ‘Starfleet cadet’. Nobody said, ‘bringing her to the lake house for First Contact break’. I mean, why ask me to come? Talk about three’s a crowd.”

She watched Andrew stir the cassarole with a ladle. Warm notes of cumin and nutmeg had scented the kitchen while they had been away. Andrew opened a cupboard, removed a bowl and filled it.

“Want some?”

He turned to her, holding out the bowl with an expression that seemed wary but willing to negotiate a truce. She was careful to take it from him without making contact.

“Thanks.”

They ate in the breakfast nook. Through the glass doors they could see the wind had grown stronger; the snow spun through the air before it landed on the deck furniture. Watching it was absorbing, almost hypnotic.

“Maybe ...,” Nyota said, after a long time lost in thought. “Maybe Spock chose not to tell you.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Andrew said.

They glanced at each other across the table. The truce was holding.

“Knowing Spock, he would do his research," Andrew gestured with his spoon. "Probably found out who bought 2931.”

Nyota nodded. “And as long as you knew nothing, there was no chance you would say anything to Valerie --,”

“Yeah, smart move. Because Koskinen definitely did her research. Knew me before I knew her.”

“Head of Intelligence …,” Nyota grinned, and so did her dinner date.

“She had a letter waiting for me when I came here in July. Said she was thinking about relandscaping.”

“Did you?”

“We met for a consultation. But no, I think that was just Koskinen’s way to vet her new neighbour.”

They said nothing more until they had finished their meal and put their dishes in the steriliser. Andrew showed her the coffee he had purchased for the Admiral.

“Since I couldn’t get hold of Spock,” he explained, “and I couldn’t assume he would know that First Contact dinners should be prepared by hand, or what ingredients to buy, I stopped at Bristlecone Deli. It's a short walk from here – that _mnazaleh_ is their speciality. That’s where I ran into Valerie again. She could see I was buying more food than I could eat myself, and naturally I told her about Spock. She went on about us being on our own for such an important holiday. Maybe she just wanted to check out Starfleet’s famous Vulcan Commander, but I didn’t see any harm. I invited her for coffee to get acquainted and she invited me to empty my shopping basket and join her family for dinner tomorrow. Spock always used to let me introduce him to new humans, so …,”

He brewed them both a cup and they went into the family room, sat on different sofas. Andrew asked the household computer to draw the curtains and light the fireplace.

“Will I see Spock tonight?” he asked, after several minutes of silence.

“Doubtful,” Nyota replied.

Andrew grunted. He returned his empty cup to the kitchen and came back holding a PADD. Nyota watched him work and considered whether it would be a bad idea to go upstairs and get her own device. She decided it would be. That left her with only the sound of the crackling fire and howling wind for entertainment.

And yet it was Andrew Grayson who seemed bored. His eyes would wander away from the PADD screen, return abruptly only to wander off again. He seemed unaware that his hand, the one she had held, was still trying to clean itself, rubbing the kneecap of his jeans where the demin was faded.

“Good coffee,” she said, just to say something.

It was as if she'd insulted him. Andrew dropped his PADD on the sofa cushion and crossed his arms.

“It’s no use,” he said. “Look, I can’t pretend we are a couple.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mnazaleh – A Middle Eastern, vegetarian stew made with eggplant and chick peas. This is the dish Andrew Grayson was cooking in the cassarole pot.


	10. Mistake

“I thought you might appreciate a break,” Koskinen explained. “I love my grandchildren, but they get overexcited by new faces. Particularly yours, Commander.” 

Spock followed Admiral Koskinen to the south side of her house, away from the appropriately named 'Great Room' where two tables had been needed to accommodate nine adults and six children for First Contact Dinner. He had anticipated high noise levels and forward curiosity from the younger Terrans. Their stares and questions and attempts to keep Zadie, a cocker spaniel, from jumping on or licking their Vulcan guest had been less problematic to him than Koskinen might think. 

The soon-to-be Head of Terran Intelligence took him up two flight of stairs, above the living areas of the house and into the roof cavity. A section of this space, roughly five meters square, had been converted into adjacent enclosures with silicate walls. Koskinen opened an entrance into the first enclosure, and they went inside. The ambient temperature rose by nine point six degrees. 

“I also thought you would appreciate the warmth,” Koskinen said. 

“The existence of this construction,” Spock replied, “suggests you also prefer the heat.” 

Koskinen’s nod was emphatic. “I am a Phoenix girl. It gets even better in the terraria.” 

She took them both to the other side of the second glass wall, where it was indeed another seven degrees hotter. Artificial illumination overhead provided infrared and ultraviolet radiation; Spock’s inner eyelids closed. The floorspace divided – one half was a growing bed with soil, hosting a myriad of plants adapted to arid climates. The rest was covered with pale sand. The Admiral unfolded two bamboo chairs and set them down, facing each other. 

“May I speak frankly with you?” she asked as she took a seat. 

“Always,” Spock replied, but remained standing. 

Koskinen regarded him, without speaking, for three point two seconds. She glanced once at the chair she had put out for him and then continued. 

“I’m very glad I extended this invitation to your uncle. It’s good to understand him as a man with family connections. I admit, when we first met, I was left with the impression that Andrew Grayson was something of a loner. A man married to his work.” 

Spock felt no compulsion to reveal that this impression was consistent with everything he knew about his mother’s brother. 

“It has been,” he replied, taking care with his choice of words, “enlightening to experience a typical First Contact gathering.” 

Koskinen seemed to hold back again. What Spock had read about her academic record and career suggested a superlative mind, and so he expected she would soon realise that Vulcans do not succumb to the temptation to say more for the sake of avoiding silence. 

“I suppose I should also be pleased to see your uncle dating. But that is the third reason I brought you here – the silence, the heat and the chance to air my concerns. Ah, look! The cereus flowers are opening.” 

Spock turned his head, to be polite, in the direction she pointed. 

“The biome settings in here are so good, they have made that cacti think it is still summer.” 

There were indeed seven flowers, with slender white petals, blooming on the stems of the subspecies _uruguayanus_ _._

“Means we will get fruit soon,” Koskinen enthused. “That’s excellent.” 

“Admiral,” Spock said, “as much as I appreciate the features of your terraria, it seems unnecessary to digress from the original purpose of your conversation.” 

He looked back at the Head of Terran Intelligence. She stood out of her chair. 

“I wanted to give you the chance to comment first,” she said. “Do you have an opinion about Andrew Grayson’s relationship with Cadet Uhura?” 

Spock experienced one of those moments when, if it were appropriate (which it was not), and were he confident in his grasp of Terran humour (which he never was) he might have attempted to joke. He saw the logic in Nyota’s decision to present herself as Andrew’s partner, because the Admiral had identified her as an Academy student. And it had been difficult to maintain this pretence under extended observation in Koskinen’s home. Yet Spock believed Nyota had given a convincing performance. 

Not so his uncle. Andrew seemed discomfited by Nyota's proximity. He held his body tense and broke off eye contact too quickly. The few attempts she made to touch him (agreed between the three of them before they left the lake house) were not rebuffed. But Andrew could not manage a reaction, either with his body or facial expressions, which humans would consider reciprocal. 

Therefore, Spock could guess that the Admiral had her doubts about them as a couple. 

“I have not had sufficient time,” he told Koskinen, “to form an opinion.” 

“So it was a surprise to you? Just like it was to me?” 

“Yes,” Spock said truthfully. 

“Well,” the Admiral sat down again, “I will tell you what bothers me. The difference in their ages – I don’t know what the cultural norms are on Vulcan, but pairing a sixty-two year old man with a twenty-eight year old woman does not benefit either of them.” 

Koskinen leaned forward and held the arms of her chair as though she occupied the command seat on a starship. 

“Secondly, it’s clear he does not have a clue. Has he had any intimate relationships before Cadet Uhura?” 

Spock replied. “Not that I recall.” 

“Which means they are together for the wrong reasons. Andrew is probably desperate and the Cadet … maybe she needs money. I did a little research –- she applied to become a relief translator at Starfleet headquarters eight days ago.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. 

“It will do her career no good if this relationship carries on or becomes public knowledge. Who will take her seriously? Commander, I understand you’ve accepted a reassignment to teach Computer Science at the San Francisco campus. If I work out a way to get Uhura upstairs, would you speak with her? Help her see what a mistake she is making?” 


	11. Meditation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings to all those self-isolating humans -- I hope this extra chapter helps make up for all the plans you cannot go ahead with right now.

It took Admiral Koskinen considerable time to ‘work out a way’. Fifty-seven minutes passed, of which Spock needed only twelve to ask the household computer for information about the plants inside the terraria. What he ought to have done, after that, was meditate. The comfortable temperature and relative silence provided an ideal opportunity. 

But his mind resisted. Spock arrived at 2931 Lake Terrace Avenue well in advance of Nyota and Andrew. This action was intended to further establish the artifice that his uncle was the person in a relationship. When he left 2929, Nyota was still in her dressing gown, browsing the master suite replicator menu for appropriate clothing. 

“Very nice,” had been the Admiral’s reaction to her selections. Koskinen helped Nyota remove her coat and led her into the family room. Spock, positioned near the fireplace on the opposite wall, could observe without being observed. He learned new vocabulary as Cadet Uhura crossed the room and received compliments from the other guests: ‘rib knit’, ‘sweater dress’ and ‘terracotta’. The garment followed the contours of her body down to the knees, where it met the top of her black boots. She wore her hair loose. 

Meditating might have helped him process the visual memories. Dangerous memories – Nyota also wore a shawl with a long fringe. The filaments clung to her dress like the fine fingers of a hand feeling the soft fabric. Sometimes, if she laughed or shook her head, her hair would drift into her face. She would comb it back momentarily and expose a cooper hoop earring. When she sat down her skirt rode up. The colour of the dress was not quite the colour of the bare skin on her thighs; the exact difference in tone was something Spock had not allowed himself to consider before he was alone. 

He was contemplating her choice of lip cosmetic when she finally entered the terraria. At some point after dinner she must have found a moment to reapply it; her mouth was glossy. 

“The Admiral tells me you wanted a word in private … Commander.” 

“Indeed.” 

Nyota batted her lashes and appraised him with one swift, sweeping look. Her eyes paused where he suspected they might. 

“Admiral Koskinen has a number of reservations about your romantic entanglement with my uncle.” 

“Ha!” 

“Amusement seems a curious reaction,” Spock said. 

“Jealously would be a pardonable one,” Nyota stepped closer, though not yet too close for a cadet wishing to show due respect to a member of Academy faculty. “I don’t believe it caused you any distress to watch Andrew and I together.” 

“The word ‘together’ seems an inaccurate descriptor,” Spock replied. “It might be said you arrived at the same time, and have occupied adjacent places in the Admiral’s seating arrangements. And yet the vigilant Head of Terran Intelligence, in agreement with myself, observed nothing that we would describe as togetherness.” 

“Do you think she can observe us here?” 

Nyota scanned the walls warily. 

“Koskinen seems to regard this as a place for personal retreat,” Spock said. 

“Nevertheless --,” 

“Nevertheless, it would be foolish to rule out the possibility of surveillance. I would also prefer to wait until we return to the lake house.” 

“Not all of you.” 

Spock sighed, put his hands inside the pockets of his uniform trousers to disguise the obvious. 

“It does not help to be the object of your focus,” he said. 

“Alone …,” 

“Nyota --,” 

“In a very warm room.” 

He turned his back on her. 

“Sorry,” she said. “You aren’t the only one who is tempted. Could you tell Admiral Koskinen that I asked you – no, that I _begged_ you – to help me break up with Andrew Grayson in the kindest way possible?” 

“I will.” 

There was a long silence. Spock had to grit his teeth to keep from turning around. 

“So I’d better go,” Nyota finally spoke. “But it won’t be long. Another hour and it will be polite to say our good-byes.” 

Spock nodded stiffly. “I will meditate until then.” 

“Umm ..., meditate ....,”

He listened to Nyota's footsteps retreating across the sand, the doppler effect on her voice as she grew further away. The entrance to the terraria opened. 

“By the way,” she added, “if you go down the first flight of stairs and open the door immediately facing you across the landing, that’s a powder room.” 

Then she left. He was grateful for the information. He waited seventy-three seconds, until he could not hear the sound of her movements any longer, and then went out himself. 


	12. Realisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter: 
> 
> Mazhyon – a sandstorm with high winds and lightning

Spock understood ‘powder room’ to mean a smaller hygiene station with limited facilities, and intended mainly for use by visitors. The lake house had one in the entrance foyer, accessible through the cloakroom. It was the only example he had ever seen. 

Upon entering the one on the second floor landing, as Nyota had directed, Spock decided his definition of powder room required more consideration. Admiral Koskinen provided much more than what would be expected. In addition to the basin and toilet there was a clothing rail and a hand held steamer, a cabinet stocking dental wash, perfume, moisturising lotions and pain medication. There was space for a walk-in foot spa and a reclining chair with settings to massage the back. Tone poems by Enguloqua played at low volume through ceiling amplifiers. 

A most inviting space, or it so might have been. Spock realised, as he engaged the lock on the door, what a shock it was to leave the terraria and experience a sudden change of light and sixteen degree drop in temperature. His body reacted. One inner eyelid did not retract completely until he blinked four times. His trousers began to fit more comfortably. 

The latter reaction might also have been a response to the sound of voices on the landing, other members of Koskinen's family coming upstairs as well as the Admiral herself. He heard his name mentioned. After inspecting his appearance in the mirror, and finding nothing untoward, Spock left the powder room. 

“Ah, Commander --,” 

The Admiral was coming down the staircase which led to the terraria. 

“ -- change of plans. I think you should see for yourself.” 

She beckoned him to follow as she continued down the stairs. They returned to the spacious great room where dinner had been served. Someone had cleared the tables and taken them away; curtains had now been drawn across the vaulting windows along the north wall. 

“Martine,” Koskinen addressed her daughter, “how does it look?” 

Martine had lifted aside one of the curtain panels and, together with Andrew and Nyota, was staring outside. She opened the curtain wider so that he and her mother could stop behind her and see the view. 

Except there was nothing to see. To Spock's unknowing eye, it seemed as if the pane of glass was still covered by some means on the exterior, like a second eyelid. 

It was Andrew who said, “I don’t think Spock has experienced a whiteout before.” And soon Spock was helped to understood that the empty view was created by heavy, windblown and falling snow. 

“It’s come earlier than the weather warnings indicated,” Martine said. “But if they’re right it’s going to hang around for several hours.” 

“You must stay here,” the Admiral said. 

“Oh now, Valerie,” Andrew protested, “we’re just next door.” 

“That’s what,” Martine asked, “about three hundred meters? It’s zero visibility out there. People have become disoriented and died from exposure trying to cover shorter distances than that.” 

Spock believed he saw alarm in Nyota’s expression. 

“I don’t have transporter facilities here yet,” Koskinen said. “Installation is scheduled for next March. So unless you brought a homing device, Andrew …?” 

His uncle folded his arms and said nothing. His second protest had less conviction. 

“You already have a house full.” 

“Not yet, Mr. Grayson,” the Admiral retorted. “I don’t mean to brag, but this place makes yours look like a cupboard.” 

Andrew turned to him. “Spock? Don’t they have something similar on Vulcan? Sandstorms.” 

“I presume you refer to _mazhyon_ ,” Spock said. 

“Yeah, lots of blowing sand, poor visibility, extreme temperatures. How do Vulcans handle those?” 

“They seek shelter. Preferably before the storm begins.” 

Andrew nodded, but he was also shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Spock could draw from memory five previous occasions when his uncle displayed this unconscious tick, all when Andrew had been displeased, in some way, with his circumstances. Nyota seemed discomfited also. She had drawn her lower lip into her mouth, between her teeth. 

Perhaps the few minutes alone with her in the terraria, or the reaction it caused, muddled his judgement. Spock did not grasp the full implications of Admiral Koskinen’s offer until she said, “That’s settled then. I sent Megan and Merle upstairs to get extra bedlinen.” 

Sleeping arrangements. If the snow storm was predicted to continue for several hours, it would be expedient to spend the night at 2931. And Admiral Koskinen’s misgivings aside, she would respect the perceived relationship between his uncle and Nyota by ensuring they slept in close proximity. If the house was large enough, there was a high probability they would be offered a bed to share. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone!  
> I really wanted to produce two chapters this weekend, but I came down with a head cold (seriously, just a cold -- no fever, no persistent cough. Just a sore throat, runny nose and blocked sinuses). When I get sinus inflammation I find it difficult to look at a screen. So I was a slow poke.
> 
> But good news - I have extra days off over Easter. And since I live in England, what else am I going to do, eh? If the Queen tells me to stay indoors, she might as well be asking me to create more fan fiction.


	13. Dvun

In the summer of 2234, Spock made his first visit to the Tahoe City lake house, and to Earth. He was four years, six months and eighteen days old. 

He knew considerably more than Terran children of his age, a discovery made without forewarning. A young human female living next door observed him outside and approached to engage him in conversation. At the point where the girl was about to make a baffled retreat back to her own house, uncle Andrew arrived and calmed her, cleared up the misunderstandings. His help ensured Spock was able to make and keep this new acquaintance. 

Sarek offered to bond nephew and uncle, as Vulcans did with extended family. He thought it might facilitate Spock’s grasp of human culture more quickly. But Andrew Grayson declined. Instead, he took Spock for long sailing trips in Marnock Road. They used the time to exchange perspectives on a number of subjects, to ‘bond’ in the Terran sense of the word. 

And together they devised another way to communicate without words. A system of signs, innocuous gestures which would mean nothing to outsiders but exchange critical information between themselves. It would be used in situations like Spock’s faltering encounter with the girl next door, and prevent matters from becoming socially awkward. 

They called it Dvun, after the Vulcan term for ‘movement’. And they used it until 2244, when Spock made his last summer visit to Tahoe. Naturally, he had not forgotten the gestures or their meanings during the intervening years, but presumed Andrew might have done. Human brains were liable to lose access to memorised information which was not regularly retrieved and used. 

But eleven point seven seconds after Admiral Koskinen said, “That’s settled”, Andrew turned and showed Spock his back. Then his uncle brought his right arm behind him so that the length of it, from wrist to elbow, lay across his body horizontally. He fisted his hand and relaxed the fingers, then fisted it again. 

In Dvun, this gesture meant there was a problem. An urgent problem. 

Having communicated this, Andrew faced him again and folded both arms across the front of his body. The thumb on his right hand pointed at the ceiling, instead of being tucked away. This meant he wished to talk in private. 

If his uncle remembered the gestures, it followed he would also recall the words they would say aloud, to divert any suspicions which might arise concerning their reasons for such peculiar body movements. 

“It appears your shoulder injury is causing you discomfort again,” Spock said. And in the language of Dvun, he grasped his left shoulder with his right hand, to inform Andrew he knew a way they might achieve a private conference. 

* * *

There was something going on between Spock and his uncle. Communication – Nyota could not understand it (yet), but the year of non-verbal she took as part of her first degree meant she could tell by their actions that those meant more than the words Spock used. 

Perhaps Admiral Koskinen had similar training. They faced each other, as it happened, with the two men standing on either side. The Head of Terran Intelligence also watched the brief interaction between the Commander and Andrew Grayson with a curious expression on her face. 

Nyota felt almost embarrassed, at one point, and wished she could walk out of the Great Room before the Admiral decided to call out the charade and make Spock explain. 

But what Valerie Koskinen did was smile at her instead, and ask, “Would you be able to lend me a hand?” 

They left uncle and nephew to themselves and went upstairs. On the second floor, the Admiral led the way through a set of double doors and announced with a flourish of her hand, “This is mine.” 

Nyota tried to gauge the size of Koskinen’s master suite. The sleeping area was L-shaped; the bedroom at 2929 would fit inside half of it. There was space just for sitting: two chairs, coffee table and a small writing desk, all with a view out the private balcony doors. But Valerie did not stop to let her admire. They carried on into the hygiene station and dressing room, and Nyota had to double her estimate of the floorspace. 

Koskinen opened a cupboard inside the dressing room, removed two pillows and cases. 

“I wonder...,” she handed the bedding to Nyota. “How many blankets, do you think?” 

“Blankets,” Nyota repeated, confused. “For …?” 

“Ah,” Valerie shook her head, “sorry. I’m thinking ahead without sharing my plan. I want you and Andrew to sleep here.” 

“Oh …,” 

Immediately, Nyota drew up a mental checklist of pros and cons, starting with the negatives. Koskinen owned an expansive bed, big enough for two people to use the same mattress and keep their distance. But would that be big enough for Andrew, or Spock for that matter? Nyota tried a polite protest. 

“You shouldn’t. This is your space. And you’ve been so kind to us already …,” 

“Ah well, what you don’t know is that ‘my space’ always becomes communal when my grandkids visit. You saw those two chairs, right? Both fold out into beds. I have inflatable mattresses and sleeping bags on the top shelf here,” Valerie pointed, “and I sleep on one of those. We draw lots for which of the children gets to hog the emperor size bed.” 

“But that’s worse,” Nyota said. “Now we’re depriving your family too.” 

“No, no,” the Admiral corrected her. “Sleepover with Grandma will still go ahead in the guest extension. Don’t know how much sleep any of us will get, but that’s part of the fun.” 

“Well …,” 

“I just think the three of you would prefer to share the same bathroom.” 

Three? Nyota reviewed her mental checklist while the Admiral chastised herself for failing to share another part of her plan. 

“Sorry. Will that be a problem? I just thought that Spock … well, his uncle probably understands whether he has any special needs. I didn’t want to put the Commander somewhere else, on his own in a stranger’s house, and make it _awkward_ for him. I mean, I would hate to find out he was cold or kept awake by my brother-in-law's snoring or … I don’t feel I’m overthinking this but if you --,” 

“Absolutely not,” Nyota interjected. “I can see the sense in what you’re saying.” 

She had to smile, when Valerie turned away to reach for one of her inflatable mattresses. Babbling was Andrew Grayson’s speciality; it happened when he was nervous. The Head of Terran Security had not betrayed any uneasiness before, so to hear her behave like Spock’s uncle all of a sudden was amusing.

More than that, Nyota figured out why the Admiral babbled, and it was even funnier. Valerie expected her to be upset by these sleeping arrangements. That was why the plan was revealed in stages, luring Nyota with promises of a romantic night in the master suite with her partner, and then quashing the fire by adding a Vulcan chaperone! It would have been admirably devious, if Nyota really had been Andrew's lover. Not to mention a subtle way for Koskinen to express her disapproval.

But Nyota had revised her mental checklist, and found the positives of the situation outnumbered the negatives. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers, I have the next six days off work. My goal is to produce at least four new chapters for 2929 Lake Terrace Avenue -- wish me luck!


	14. 2237

Their meeting convened inside the second floor powder room. 

“Well,” Andrew said, “this is impressive. How long can we get away with staying here?” 

“The longest programmable setting on the massage chair,” Spock consulted the armrest menu, "is fifteen minutes. But this covers all muscles groups on a human back. I believe we would not attract suspicion if we remained for the duration of the neck and shoulder programme, which is seven minutes.” 

“You know, I could really use a massage.” 

His uncle sat down heavily, allowed Spock to initiate the routine. The mechanism made a low buzzing noise as the chair reclined. Spock could not see the massage equipment working; he deduced the point when activity commenced after Andrew let out a prolonged exhalation and closed his eyes. 

Their meeting started a minute later, when it became clear to Spock that he would need to drive proceedings. 

“Regarding Admiral Koskinen’s extension of hospitality --,” 

“I don’t care what she says,” Andrew interrupted. “I’m heading out.” 

“But the visibility --,” 

“I only need a five minute break, when new snow stops falling. What else have I got to do? I’ll sit up and watch.” 

“That seems unnecessary.” 

“Better than the alternative.” 

Spock paused, confused, since the only alternative he could foresee was an awkward conversation between his uncle and Nyota concerning their sleeping arrangements. But a reasonable compromise seemed likely, given the size of Koskinen’s house and generous dimensions of the rooms. The most probable outcome was a good night’s rest for all. 

The noise of the massage chair changed frequency. Andrew’s head bobbed gently on the backrest and when he spoke it added a quaver to his voice. 

“Do you remember your visit to Earth in 2237?” 

“I do. You invited me to stay at your home in Seattle.” 

Andrew laughed. “Yeah. Right. Your zany, unpredictable uncle drove you away from sunny Tahoe so you could experience several days of non-stop rain.” 

“If you could control weather, we would not be having this meeting.” 

Andrew ignored his attempt at humour. “Except I’m very predictable, aren’t I? What’s the first thing I always wanted to do when your family came for a vacation at the lake house?” 

“You would have a conference with my mother, what you both referred to as ‘a catch-up'. It took place in your accommodation. Father and I would attend to the luggage and unpack in our respective bedrooms.” 

“That’s right. I got to show off footage from my latest commissions on the holoprojection wall. And I guess there was an unspoken agreement that I would have my sister to myself for the rest of that day, since I got to see her so rarely.” 

Curious. The chair’s mechanical noise altered again, the result of which was that Spock could see the components working underneath the upholstery, pressing against the sides of Andrew’s neck. 

“I recall,” Spock said, “that in 2237 your conference was cut short. There was an unexpected diplomatic matter – highly confidential -- which required my parents’ immediate return to Vulcan. You believed a diversion, a change of scenery, would help occupy my mind during their absence. You worked under the mistaken notion that I would ‘miss them’.” 

“Did I use those exact words? Miss them?” 

“Affirmative.” 

“Huh.” 

The powder room background music changed, from atonal to harmonic, a piece Spock did not recognise with a strong four-beat rhythm. The fingers on Andrew’s left hand began to move in time. 

“There was no unexpected diplomatic matter,” Andrew said. “I lied.” 

The music changed again from a major to a minor key, which seemed fitting. Spock shifted his position behind the chair. He moved further away. 

“I thought you might know the truth by now,” Andrew went on. “You’re not a kid anymore, and you can do the math.” 

He could, but only because time had passed. Spock experienced his first blood fever in 2250. The experience taught him how to recognise the earliest symptoms, as well as the earliest reactions to them, the careful arrangements and subterfuges undertaken by Vulcans to ensure the condition remained unknown to anyone who did not need to know. It taught him to see through the cover ups, the only acceptable deceptions in a culture that eschewed lies. 

Consequently, he was not fooled in 2251. A second year Starfleet cadet by then, he expected a visit from his mother over spring midterm break. It was not the cancellation which made him suspicious, because diplomatic matters often did interfere with her plans. Spock knew by the way he was informed. There was no subspace call, not even an audio link scheduled into his diary, which his mother could access. A written message came to his PADD. It was so brief he read it while crossing a corridor in the Computer Science building, to get to his next class.

And once he realised this must be his father’s time, he knew all the previous times: seven years before 2251 was 2244, and seven years before 2244 was 2237. 

“Tell me the truth,” he said to Andrew. 

“Your dad came downstairs. We didn’t hear him -- our chairs faced the holoprojector, and the footage was ground breaking work so there was a lot of heavy machinery noise. He caught me by the back of my shirt and lifted me, I’m not joking, so that I couldn’t get my feet to touch the floor or any furniture. And I was choking.” 

Spock said nothing, only processed his shame. 

“To this day, I don’t know what he shouted at me. Apparently it was Vulcan, but not the language that Amanda or I picked up when your grandfather spent his sabbatical year at the Science Academy.” 

“I would have noticed,” Spock said, “if you had been injured.” 

“Well, thanks to your mother, that didn’t happen.” 

“She was able to reason with my father?” 

“She smashed a chair over his head.” 

The massage routine finished. Andrew sighed. 

“We had our catch-up when Amanda came back for you. You can imagine we didn’t talk about landscaping work. I don’t think she told me everything, but I did learn how insanely protective and jealous Vulcans are when it comes to their mates.” 

“Andrew, you do not need to be concerned --,” 

“Yes, I do. That’s why I called this meeting.” 

“I do not harbour any misgivings --,” 

“Spock, I was her _brother_ , for crying out loud. What misgivings – I mean when did I ever give your dad a reason to think that I … isn’t incest a big taboo on Vulcan as well!?” 

“Please, uncle,” Spock did not know if it would help to plead, but the embarrassment had become more than he wanted to handle when residing with strangers. “Our emotions during … when we are …,” 

Andrew got out of the chair, turned around to look at Spock. 

“When you are ill. That’s what Amanda called it – an illness.” 

Spock nodded, relieved to know how much she had upheld Vulcan secrecy. 

“The nature of our emotions cannot be judged from our behaviour when ill.” 

Andrew nodded in return. 

“Fair,” he said. “But it scared the hell out of me. It’s been hard enough to play along with this fake dating business. I wasn’t going to risk, well, you know … anything else.” 


	15. Quick

The Admiral’s master bedroom computer had been programmed to monitor the double doors and announce the time when anyone entered. 

_-It is seven minutes past twenty-two hundred hours-_

“That wasn’t so bad,” Nyota said, leading the way. “I enjoyed myself.” 

“Of course you did,” Andrew replied. “You won two of the three prizes. And you don’t look half as ridiculous as the two of us.” 

“Had to be done, _boyfriend_. Anything else would have been rude.” 

The men insisted she use the hygiene station first. Nyota went inside, replicated a dentabit and checked her reflection in the full-size mirror. Andrew was right, of course. The only unusual aspects of her outfit were pom-pom fringes on the cuffs of her lounge shirt and leggings, and the feather boa collar of her dressing gown. Colour didn’t count. She didn’t own any nightwear in mint green but it wasn’t uncommon in catalogue selections. 

Once they agreed they would stay overnight at 2931, Valerie Koskinen wanted to include them in the evening’s activities. The rest of the family had taken a collective decision to change clothes, don novelty pajamas and reconvene in the great room for a vid game tournament. No exceptions – even Zadie the dog turned out in a purple camouflage romper. 

Nyota helped Spock select a yukata style jacket and pants with a surreal motif of winged pineapples, loose fitting so that he could layer up thermals underneath. Spock helped Nyota persuade Andrew Grayson that he would feel _more_ uncomfortable if he were the only person downstairs dressed in conventional sleepwear. Then they insisted he replicate a tiger stripe onesie, complete with tail. 

Nyota cleaned her teeth, combed and tied up her hair, obeyed the Admiral’s instructions to help herself to toiletries by sampling some of Koskinen’s kava nut moisturiser. Then she left the hygiene station. Andrew was waiting in the sitting area. He had converted one of the chairs into a bed and was messing around with the pocket projector, directing the beam at a nearby wall to replay the sample vid. 

“Hey,” Nyota said. She grabbed his tail and pulled it. “That’s _my_ prize.” 

Andrew smiled. “Not much of a sharer, are you, _girlfriend_?” 

“Oh, no no. Maybe you don’t realise, but you were dumped in that first round of “Neutral Zone”, when you shot down the runabout with my peace emissary!” 

“Good. Saves me the trouble.” 

Spock stood near the emperor sized bed, seemingly unaware of their banter. But when Nyota got close enough he reached out, brushed her cheek and revealed his thoughts. He was pleased. He also believed the evening had been beneficial -- casual dress and friendly competition had allowed his uncle to relax, become better acquainted with her and establish a three-way camraderie. 

Nyota glanced in Andrew’s direction. Was he still preoccupied with the pocket projector? As soon as she was sure, she reached behind Spock’s ear and pulled his head down to kiss him. 

The door chime rang before their lips could meet. They split up – Spock marched into the hygiene station and Nyota, after a frustrated huff, told the computer to open the entrance. 

Valerie Koskinen didn’t cross the threshhold; she exercised that much respect for privacy. But she was looking beyond Nyota rather than at her, probably pleased to see the pristine state of the bed. She held out a token. 

“Cadet, I don’t know much about Vulcans. But I think they do a lot of meditating. If the Commander needs a private place, this will give him access to the terraria.” 

“Oh,” Nyota said, hoping that sounded like complete ignorance. “Right.” 

“Of course, you can replicate breakfast in here,” the Admiral said. “But if you want, there will be homemade pancakes in the kitchen roundabout eight. Is there anything else you need?” 

Nyota called to Andrew sweetly, and made him come to the door and speak on behalf of his nephew. She, meanwhile, slipped out of sight, around the corner of that massive L-shaped room. Spotting the hygiene station door ajar, she went to shut it. Or at least she meant to. 

Instead she closed it behind herself. The telltale drone of a sonic shower was too much to resist. Nyota tiptoed inside, past the black marble bathtub surround and laser cut screen that obscured her view. The shower was a single, floor to ceiling divider made of glass, hiding nothing. 

Nyota sat down on the edge of the bath. Several seconds of undisturbed voyeurism were hers, while Spock ran the shower head over his hair and down his back, while the muscles in his shoulders bunched and puckered. Then he turned. Several more seconds followed. 

“Cadet.” 

“Commander.” 

“I assume Admiral Koskinen came to the door.” 

“She did. She is probably still there.” 

“You are not concerned?” 

“She’s talking with Andrew. You’ll excuse me for speculating but I think she’ll try to keep that conversation going awhile. That’s the best she can do, isn’t it? Delay or discourage him from doing, you know … anything else.” 

Spock moved the shower head to protect his modesty. Or to keep her from seeing how immodest his modesty was starting to become. 

“But,” he said, “when the conversation ends, Andrew will still be in the suite.” 

“He will,” she agreed, “but as long as we are quick, I’m sure he will wait.” 

Nyota stood, walked over to the shower entrance and ran her hand down the edge of the divider. 

“What do you think?” she asked. 

“I am uncertain.” 

“So uncertain you left the door ajar?” 

Spock quirked an eyebrow. “I was not aware.” 

“You are never not aware,” Nyota replied. “It takes a lot to distract you.” 

Spock took three breaths before he corrected her. “On rare occasions, only a little.” 

He gulped the fourth breath when she tapped her fingernails against the glass. 

“I admit that I am not taking a shower to get clean,” he said. 

“Then get over here.” 

What would Valerie Koskinen say if she found out how her kava nut moisturiser was put to use? 


	16. Eyes

Play dumb. Play dumb. 

Andrew reckoned he was good at it. He’d had plenty of practice. All his sister’s boyfriends, her first husband, and especially her second … with Amanda there was always a look that was easy to interpret. She started being sexual with her eyes. He had never told her that and he probably never would. 

Did he tell his nephew that somehow that look had been learned or passed down through the human half of Spock's DNA? Very nearly. Valerie decided the teams for the vid game tournament. She put Spock and Nyota together for “Neutral Zone”, and there was a moment when they combined virtual fleets against the Warbirds on Andrew’s side. Nyota devised and ordered the formation phaser fire that forced an enemy retreat. And Spock -- (gotta smile) -– Spock lost grip on his game controller and stared at her with those identical, unmistakable, ‘let’s get naked as soon as possible’ eyes. 

Andrew worried that Koskinen would see them and figure out the truth. 

But in hindsight he didn’t think so. Koskinen visited the master bedroom after the games to waylay him and he played along. After she left, he used the security token the Admiral meant for Spock, went up to the attic space and had a look at the terraria. Nice feature. He could build one like it at 2929. 

The attic also had a sitting area, a cosy corner with old fashioned bookshelves and a hammock chair. Andrew dozed off there. When he woke, figuring it was safe to creep back downstairs, Nyota was fast asleep in the big bed. The pillows and quilt were not untidy enough to convince him that anything else had happened on that mattress. 

And no sign of his nephew. Not, that is, until 05:18am. Andrew got up from the converted chair bed and shuffled blearily into the hygiene station to answer a call of nature. He nearly had heart failure when the dressing room doors opened. 

“Spock! What the hell?” 

“My apologies. I had hoped to exit unnoticed.” 

“What were you doing in there?” 

“Meditating.” 

No more pineapple pajamas. Spock was fully dressed. He left the master suite shortly after to help the Admiral prepare breakfast. Nyota and Andrew showed up in time to eat and receive Koskinen’s disapproval. Valerie kept herself busy, flipping pancakes and brewing more very good coffee. But every chance she got, she also cast surreptitious glances at the couple she probably suspected of turfing out their chaperone for some early morning intimacy. 

All the while Spock sat across the table from Nyota, giving her bedroom looks that nobody else noticed. 

Andrew knew that was his cue. The morning sky was clear and bright. While the three of them walked along the snowploughed road, back to the lakehouse, he said, “Spock, you know, that terraria got me thinking. I’m going to hideout in the basement for a bit, do some drawings. I’ll show you them later.” 

“Thank you,” Spock replied. 


	17. Steps

It was a struggle to get upstairs. 

They entered 2929 through the garage. Spock stopped to inspect his uncle’s car, since apparently it was not the same one he remembered from seven years earlier. Andrew revealed that he had owned two different cars during that time, and began to list his reasons for switching from Enbarr models to Bryson. But Nyota could not stretch to any more polite socialising. She used her bracelet to let herself into the house, stomped snow off her boots before heading for the second floor. 

Yes, she detoured. Halfway there she remembered how she had been wary of using the Admiral's substream access, and left her PADD behind. It was waiting on the family room coffee table. 

Then she thought, _might as well lose this coat while I'm here_. Car conversation would keep the men occupied a few minutes. Coat and boots got shed in the front entrance cloakroom. And when Nyota reached the coffee table her PADD had a message waiting. Nyota unlocked the security settings while she sauntered back to the stairs. She opened her mailbox with one foot on the first step. As the message opened she lifted her weight and took the second step. 

Message Sender: Gaila Jadillu 

“What a surprise,” Nyota said to herself. She activated the audio. 

“ _Hey gorgeous, if you are listening to this, shame on you. You have better things to do at that beautiful house._ ” 

Spock would agree. Nyota knew this because a hand suddenly curled around her right thigh and squeezed. How had he come up behind her so quietly? 

“ _But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I suppose you might need a little break, now and again.”_

The same hand travelled to her ass and scooted round one cheek. And round again. Pushed up from the bottom and then softly withdrew. Scooted round a third time. 

Nyota took precautions, clasped the handrail. Her mouth opened. 

“Umm …,” 

“ _And by break, I don’t mean sleep. Please say you have been losing sleep._ ” 

Spock gifted her backside with his other hand. He made a noise that predated logic. She felt his body heat, then his body. His hands raked around her hips. He grasped handfuls of her sweater dress, let them go, and grabbed again. The hemline gradually crept higher. 

“ _Oh, and please say why. Exactly. Why._ ” 

“Spock --,” 

One hand sloped into the gap between her legs, crooked fingertips and dragged. It left her wearing only a sweater with a slip. 

“ _Oh, and where. I mean, that place has so many --,”_

Nyota cut the sound, accidentally. She bowed and braced herself using the corner of a step and her PADD holding hand. It was a tenuous grip, at best. When she thrust her hips backwards to grind against Spock the PADD slipped. The quality and quantity of noises it made tumbling and landing suggested it had returned to the first floor. 

Spock curled over her and they ended up in a kind of crouch. The pelvic contact felt good, but soon got old -- there were better options. Nyota slithered free. She crawled up the next five steps, but as she reached half landing where the stairs turned Spock caught her ankle, and she gave up without a fight, belly-flopped on the carpet. She felt his hands use her captured leg to climb up after her. 

Then Spock rolled her onto her back. He had horror film eyes, dark and unblinking; they gave her a rush of fear and lust together. They stayed like that a while, face to face. They seemed to shift out of time. There was no telling whether his stare lasted moments or hours. She seemed to watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall in slow motion. 

He kissed her, but he might as easily have melted over her. Only the slightest weight pressed on her face and body; his mouth and tongue stayed soft. It drove her to frenzy. Her hands fluttered like panicked birds, touching down and taking off to land on as many parts of him as possible. 

Did she come? Nyota didn’t know what to think when her fit seemed to peak and her arms felt limp and heavy and dropped on the back of his neck. It deepened their kiss. Did she count? He should not have too much of her at once, not here. 

But Spock supervised himself, lifted his mouth clear. The effect of the tasting left his eyes half-lidded and his expression relaxed. 

“That was,” Nyota said, “very disciplined of you.” 

Spock half smiled. 

“An expected by-product of six hours and eleven minutes in meditation,” he replied. 

“Ah,” she said, “is that it? So you’ve had no sleep and no sex.” 

“Your visit to the shower --,” 

Nyota grunted dismissively. “If I’d known Andrew was going to go somewhere else, I would have undressed and turned that visit into an event worth your mention.” 

Her arms slipped off his neck and patted him on the sleeves. 

“Look at you, still in your coat,” she said. “No wonder I couldn’t feel anything.” 

“What do you wish to feel?” 

Something deliciously scary returned to his eyes. Spock lifted and shifted with elbows and knees, until he was no longer on top of her but lying on the carpet alongside. 

He said, “You, by contrast, are wearing very little clothing which would impede sensation.” 

Nyota felt one finger gliss over the gusset of her panties. First response came from the back of her throat; she clamoured for words as he drew that finger back to where it started. 

“SpockIwillmakealotofnoise,” she croaked. 

Her next sentence got stuck because his finger knew its way under leg elastic. It squirmed into her between, along the slick seam of skin where nerves were pulsing. 

“Andrew has decided to clear our driveway with a snow-blowing device,” Spock crooned. Nyota just shut her eyes and thought, _there's no guarantee that will drown me out._

And then she couldn’t think. Additional fingers found their way to her. Their friction travelled long and wide and (yes) deep. If she pushed back, they made contact with a hair trigger spot and switched her on like a timer. She found herself thrusting to the countdown – five, four, three, two, one. 

Whiteout. 


	18. Laundry

“No skin …,”

His coat annoyed her now.

“Why are you so damn covered up?”

Spock surrendered to her inferior strength. One easy shove put air space between their bodies, and a second shifted him onto his back. Then Nyota stood. She stripped off her dress and slip, watching him watching her. She bunched both garments into a ball and threw them up the stairs, aiming for the second floor landing.

But when Spock began to unfasten the collar of his coat, she said, “Stop that.”

Obediently, his fingers stilled. Nyota got down on her knees, walked splay-legged over his body until the damp gusset of her briefs was close enough for him to touch, or to seriously consider the kinetics of curling his neck and shoulders forward to taste.

She reached down and took his right hand by its thumb. That was all. But it interrupted his breathing pattern.

“Too late to fix things now,” she said solemnly.

She had clasped the metacarpal segment, between his first and second knuckles. Pushing the skin against the bones made him inhale deeply.

“Ny --,” he said, as the breath came out.

“Um-hmm?”

Moving up, to massage the skin under his cuticle, made him set his jaw.

“If you’re worried about noise this time, I can still hear the snow blower outside.”

Nyota lifted Spock’s hand. The fingers, in reaction to her thumb work, were fully extended and stiff. Enervating toys – she used them to prod her stomach under the naval and quiver at the erotic jolt she received with each touch. She inserted one under her bra cup, held it there for as long as she could stand.

“Not …,” Spock couldn’t allow himself to finish until she removed it. “Not noise.”

Proceedings paused. They were both panting.

“What … oh,” Nyota brought his captive hand up near her chin. “I get it. But that’s not really a problem, is it? You were going to wash these clothes anyway.”

When he conceded her point, it was by turning his wrist so that his fingertips wiped her lips. Nyota stuck out her tongue and the fingers came back for more. They were tasted separately before she drew his entire pinky into her mouth and sucked.

There was still a little meditation mind working. Between the sensations she gave him and his responses Nyota could count seconds. And he was able to keep much quieter than she had been. Nyota released his finger. She chewed the heel of his hand instead, stopping every so often to drill her tongue into the centre of Spock’s palm.

He resisted, but not to defeat her. What his trained consciousness could control was only a part of the whole and since Nyota's tongue did not stop, the backlog of unmanageable need increased. She felt his abdominal muscles clench under her thighs and his breathing came harder and shorter. His captured arm trembled, lightly at first, but eventually became so violent she had to call in her other hand to hold him.

“Oh _ashayam_ , when you come --,”

When he did, his spine snapped from flat to arched instantly, thrust his pelvis off the floor. Nyota was catapulted off her knees, lost her grip and balance and collapsed onto Spock's chest. His shouts did drown out the snow blower and, they later realised, other noise. After a few minutes of recovery they they helped each other sit up, and Nyota spotted broken plaster on the wall above the skirting.

“Would you ... fetch my PADD?” she asked, to avoid the question of what they should tell Andrew if he discovered the damage.

And so they made it upstairs, at last. Inside the second-floor laundry room, Nyota replayed Gaila’s message while Spock undressed.

“Would it be all right to tell her about your uncle?” she asked.

Spock was about to drop his trousers into the washer, but for a few seconds more they remained suspended in mid air. His glance in her direction contained warning.

“Oh … no,” Nyota said, “No, I did not mean -- I would just tell her what happened. Koskinen’s visit and how we kept her from suspecting us.”

Trousers went in the washer then, closely followed by Spock’s shirt.

“I have to tell her something. She is going to drive me crazy with questions, and what she really wants to know …,”

Nyota paused but Spock carried on, added his thermal base layers to the load.

“Sex is her small talk. I suppose I’ve gotten used to daytime nudity, finding objects whose function I can’t even guess inside our shower and returned lingerie turning up in our post box. Gaila must think that, if she keeps on persuading, I will forget the eleven years I was raised by a Vulcan and share ... the most private things.”

By the time she finished speaking, Spock stood completely naked. He let the washing machine weigh the load and identify the fabric content, accepted the recommendations it displayed for added cleanser and rate of agitation.

“I am being advised that your sweater dress should be cleaned separately,” he said, and opened the drum to fish it out.

But he made no comment in reaction to what she’d said. Maybe he thought she had not finished making her point.

“OK, there is another reason she pesters. Culturally, Orions may seem easy going but Gaila gets serious about one thing. Connecting – making couples happen – it seems fundamental, maybe a form of self-actualisation. Once Gaila got us together, she took it for granted that everything about us was, as best I can tell, a part of her.”

Spock folded her dress. He walked over to where she stood, to set it on the counter beside her. He said, “Your choice of words suggests you have not clarified your understanding.”

“I have clarified my boundaries. She is living on Earth, after all. Now, if we were on the Orion home world --,”

“Then daytime nudity,” Spock said, extending the pinky finger she had sucked to hook it under her bra strap, “might be mandatory.”

Nyota grinned, turned around and let him unfasten her. As for her panties, she tugged and fidgeted her way out of them while Spock planted a row of kisses along her right shoulder.

Neither of them suggested sex on the washing machine. Once Nyota’s underwear was added to the load and the program initiated, all they meant to do was use that square metal box for support while their tongues became deeply reacquainted with each other. But the surface felt warm and vibrated. And it wasn’t just Spock losing inhibition under the influence of those kisses. Nyota was the one who hopped up on top of the machine, laid back and spread her legs thinking, perversely, about how much kudos Gaila might reward her for showing initiative.


	19. Scrapbook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note at the beginning : the layout of 2929 Lake Terrace Avenue is roughly based on the floor plan at this URL - https://houseplansandmore.com/homeplans/houseplan071D-0123.aspx.
> 
> I made two adjustments to the second floor plan – added a door in the hallway which shuts off Bathroom 2 and Bedrooms 2 and 3, effectively making that another master suite. I also created an imaginary extension to Bedroom 3, above the covered deck, to serve as a meditation space.

Maybe he’s getting better already, Nyota thought. 

Tiny, hopeful signs that Spock’s tolerance was improved: he could still lift and carry his own weight after a considerable number of kisses. As they pulled away from each other, and Nyota shifted herself off the washing machine, he let her grip his shoulders. Yet he stood up straight. He gazed at her with a crooked half smile and glassy eyes, but did not need her help to retain his balance. Not yet. 

“Look at you,” she said, squeezing his deltoids, “still _compos mentis_.” 

Spock sniffed. The muscles round his lips tightened, as if that could hold back anything. His body might be fine; his mind was quite another matter. A deep throated giggle bubbled out of him. Nyota continued her massage a few seconds more, and enjoyed his blatant happiness. 

“You’re in a nice place right now. Why don’t we try and … extend that.” 

His response was a hum, and seemed agreeable. 

“Part of this house I haven’t seen yet,” Nyota went on. “You must have had some space of your own, when you stayed here.” 

“Did …,” Spock replied. He turned, as if to head that way. His upper body tipped slightly too far forward, and Nyota had to pull him back. 

“No rush.” 

Slow but steady steps got them out of the laundry room. They took a breather in the hallway before heading away from the stairs and master suite, through another door. Once they were inside, Spock wanted to stop again. 

“Okay?” she asked him, out of politeness. His bare skin was buzzy with unfettered emotions, but she didn’t detect anything negative. 

His voice was soft, a faraway quality. “I have not been here …,” 

Nyota watched his eyebrows buckle. Several seconds went by. 

“Since you were much younger,” she finished his sentence. “I bet that seems strange.” 

“Yes.” 

He reached out, fingered the long fringe of a fabric panel, a pattern of white and neutrals with scraps of yarn tangled into the weft, that hung on the wall. 

“Purchased,” Spock said, “at a craft fair.” 

“You went to a craft fair? Here, in Tahoe City?” 

He shook his head. Nyota didn’t understand what he said next, thought maybe he was starting to slur. 

“Truckee,” he repeated when she asked, and she remembered the name of the town from the escape pod maps. “Andrew took me.” 

Spock let his hand creep forward along the wall and followed it. They paused at the bathroom and then at the linen closet so he could open the doors and look inside. 

He pulled a folded hand towel from the closet and said, “Also the museum.” 

“Museum?” 

Nyota was offered the towel, momentarily, then it was pulled away. 

“Or perhaps,” Spock said, “perhaps you wish to shower.” 

“Not just now,” she assured him. “Towel is fine. What were you saying about a museum?” 

The answer might have been waiting behind his parted lips. He watched her as she dried herself between her legs. He lifted the lid of the laundry hamper at the exact moment she needed it. This successful attention to detail introduced a note of self-satisfaction to the telepathic feed from his skin, but Spock remained blissfully unaware that he had ignored her questions. 

Beyond the linen closet there were two doors. Spock chose the one on the right. Nyota didn’t quite know what to make of the room they entered. The tile covered floor gave slightly, underfoot. Otherwise, the space looked unfinished and unfurnished. 

Or did until Spock said, “Computer, _yerak nala_.” 

Nyota heard a faint droning sound overhead, saw slots appear in the formerly smooth, white ceiling – twelve altogether, to make a ring formation. Vid panels, which must have been stored in the roof cavity, began to descend slowly from these openings, one after another. Spock led her into the midst of all this activity. As each of the panels slid down to the floor and flush against each other she understood they were going to be closed up inside the circle. 

_Yerak_ _nala_ _–_ Spock’s request to ‘assemble the cell’ -- now made sense. And she was delighted. She knew how Vulcan children were educated, but had never seen an operating learning unit. 

“Of course,” she said. “May I touch it?” 

He reached for one of the panels, by way of response. It reacted to contact instantly and filled with so many different segments of Vulcan text Nyota needed time to move them, distinguish between them and translate. The segments turned out to be folders, containing learning programmes and personal work organised alphabetically by academic discipline. No surprises, not until the alphabet ran out and there was still one folder left after that, labelled in Standard. 

“Scrapbook?” 

Spock made a sound as though pleasantly surprised. He let her open it. Images, dozens and dozens, popped up on the other panels; Nyota turned her head to watch them crowd every space until the circle was completely filled. 

One picture caught her eye immediately. 

“Ah,” she said, turning Spock to face the same direction. “Is this what you were talking about?” 

It was composed after the fashion of all vacation snapshots, three children obediently posing in front of the attraction entrance, in this case a boxcar with ‘Truckee Railroad Museum’ painted on the side. Peculiar and wonderful, Nyota thought, to see a boy version of Spock dressed in Terran layers, jacket and sweatshirt over a polo neck sweater. 

“Kane …,” Spock said, “did not find the exhibits interesting.” 

“Which one is Kane?” 

Spock pointed to the child standing behind Boy Spock. 

“And the other one?” 

“Lona.” 

“Lona. Siblings?” 

Spock nodded. “Neighbours.” 

“Oh, as in children of the former owners of Admiral Koskinen’s place?” 

Spock made a sweeping gesture with one arm and accidentally bumped the vid panel. A message came up on screen. 

“There’s a photograph you haven’t captioned,” Nyota translated out loud. “That’s not like you. Not the sober version, anyway.” 

Spock just giggled. Nyota chose the option to bring that image to the front. Another shot of Kane, Lona and Spock, not in Truckee but the middle of Lake Tahoe, sitting inside the cabin of _Marnock_ _Road_ with Andrew Grayson at the helm. 

“You’re all older here,” she said. She took a guess that Kane and Lona were in their mid teens. Lona looked made up for a nightclub, stunning but misjudged. Her dark painted eyes and lips looked odd, with her hair all wind frazzled and her body trussed in a bulky flotation vest. Nyota smiled. She remembered being a similar kind of adolescent stupid. 

“Gold glitter hairspray ...,” she said, more to herself. 

Next thing she knew Spock had a hand on top of her head, fingertips combing the roots at her parting. It was her turn to giggle. 

“Ah no, I’m talking secondary school. Thought it would be a good choice for yearbook photograph day. The principal disagreed.” 

Whether Spock took in any of that information was open to debate. He continued to groom her, but with his nose flatted against her forehead and his other hand tucked against her ribs under her breast, nudging at the swell. 


	20. Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orion terms used in this chapter
> 
> ngameh - no idea what this word actually means. I lifted it from the Orion name generator at https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/star-trek-orion-names.php
> 
> In my Kelvin timeline world, there is an Orion retail franchise called Felladu, selling unique items to aid physical intimacy. Ngameh ribbon is one of these products.

They left the study, went into the adjoining room.

It was occupied by a surprisingly large bed – the first thing Nyota noticed and that made up her mind. Spock was getting wobblier on his feet. This did not dampen his enthusiasm as a tour guide; he insisted they follow the walls round to take a closer look at the cabinets, the closet, the alcove extension which had additional cavity insulation (Spock could no longer articulate that many multi-syllable words, but Nyota worked out his meaning). 

He was completely unselfconscious, verbose, gesticulating and, by the time they completed their circuit, displaying another superb erection. 

Nyota could not shush him. The only way to stop him talking was to take him in hand, use her index finger and thumb to make a ring at the base of his _lok_ and add pressure. Then, instead of telling her when and where he acquired the headboard with its display shelves and integral bedside cabinets, Spock tipped his head back. 

“Mmmore ...,” he said, with eyes shut. 

“You can have more,” Nyota told him, letting go. “More of everything. But first it’s time to lie down.” 

The headboard cabinets were sturdy, made good supports. Spock used them while she turned back the bed covers. As a reward for seating himself on the mattress, Nyota stood close and let him taste one breast. There was more potent quality to that skin. 

“Will you wait here, if I go back to the master suite? Promise you won’t try to follow?” 

Were she to close her eyes, she would share his state of mind. This was when his thought processes cut themselves into segments, like jigsaw puzzle pieces, and though they remained close, the gaps might seem little or large when connections needed to be made. And each time he paused to swallow, tingles travelled along his spine. 

She pulled away gently, met no resistance. 

“Won’t be a minute,” she said. 

He was fine. When she returned he was chatting away as if she never left. 

“... could n’ride a bicycle … ,” 

“Bicycle?” Nyota opened the cabinet doors on their side of the bed, looking for space to store the things she had fetched. 

“Bicycle,” Spock said, emphatically. “Lona -- Lona wan-wanted teach me. Trail, there … there is trail, goes aaalll the way around --,” 

He tried to express himself by drawing a circle in the air, stalled halfway, and seemed confused to find his hand hovering out in front of his face. Nyota reached over to rub his knee reassuringly. 

“So there’s a bike trail going round the lake,” she prompted him. “But you … you never learned how to ride?” 

“Did,” Spock corrected her, bringing his hand down to place over hers. “Did. Seven.” 

“You’ve ridden the trail seven times,” Nyota guessed. 

Spock agreed through their hands. 

“ -- b’not now.” 

“Ah, no,” she said. “Now would not be a good time.” 

“Shhuhger,” he jumped to some other thought, as he worked his fingers underneath hers. “Shuga … pine.” 

“Sugarpine --,” 

“-- point,” he interrupted. 

“Point?” 

Everything they would need was now easy to grab. She turned away from the cabinet and faced him, knelt at his feet. 

“Point ...,” Spock said. “Beautiful.” 

“This is a place?” 

“Park.” 

“Park. Sugarpine Point Park?” 

She kissed the knuckles which gently squeezed her hand, over and over. Spock sighed like it was all too much. 

“Beautiful …,” he said. Then he managed a whole sentence in sudden approximation of sobriety. A group of jigsaw puzzle pieces must have bumped into each other. 

“Sit on the end of the pier and all you see is blue water and sky.” 

His hand was squeezing hers more frequently, and his _lok_ twitched. 

“Can you see yourself there now?” Nyota asked, and he nodded. “Is it warm? Warm enough to lie down on the boardwalk? 

Suggestion worked. Spock eased himself backwards a little and fell the rest of the way. His shoulders bounced on the mattress. And his legs spread open wider, room for her to occupy the place between. 

“Lovely,” she told him, and reached into the bedside cabinet. Nyota supposed she would have to tell Gaila just how useful some of her purchases proved to be. The rechargeable sonic wand, with a spritz of electrostatic cleanser applied, got rid of all stickiness from previous ejaculations and, judging from Spock’s crooning sounds, were helping make progress towards the next. Seemed a shame to switch it off, but lubricant was needed. 

“Is there anything you want,” she asked as she coated him. “I brought some of the toys.” 

Between moans --, “... kiss …,” 

“Kiss? If you were only human, I might call you old-fashioned sometimes.” 

But she slicked a length of _ngameh_ ribbon, the slenderest, and listened to his reactions as she gently pushed the tip into the fissure of his anus. 

“Tickle?” she asked. 

“Kisskisskiss,” he insisted, voice quaking to match the shudder that ran down his thighs as the _ngahmeh_ wormed its own way deeper inside. 

“Okay.” 

Nyota climbed onto the bed beside him, gauged her landing spot so that he could roll over and choose what he wanted to put against his mouth. Lips on lips felt different when he attained higher altitudes of euphoria. Emotions transferred like splashes, lust a continual burn like midsummer sun. She decided to close her eyes a while, and sure enough she found herself on the end of that pier in Sugarpine Point Park. Spock was right – it was an amazing place. Everything blue, the ideal of blue. The boards they lay on were bleached almost white, and gloriously warm. 

She could feel the _ngahmeh_ exploring. From the waist down Spock became quivering jelly. His mouth slipped, dragged helplessly across her cheek, over her jaw and down her throat. She clamped him firmly around the waist and pressed their bodies tight together. He came with a wail and spilled heat into the join of her clenched thighs. 

What he said, when he first tried to speak, sounded like ‘thank you’. There was certainly gratitude mixed in with the touch transferred sluice of feelings, pouring off him. 

“I thought you’d enjoy that,” she replied.


	21. Comfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food and drink mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> Presidente - Dominican Pilsner style beer
> 
> Coconete - Dominican coconut cookie. I saw a video on YouTube where two guys ate coconete washed down with Presidente beer. Now that I've learned about these cookies, I may need to make some. They sound like my kind of straightforward comfort food.
> 
> Vitumbuwa - an East African baked rice flour cake, like a doughnut, made with coconut milk. Writing this chapter has made me really hungry.

“Andrew?” 

Instinct warned him to think about his answer. It might be the first time she had called out his name, or just the first time he’d heard it. 

“Oh … hi there," he called back. He took a step away from his drawing board, stretched his arms up over his head. 

“Okay if I intrude?” 

“Not intruding,” he said, letting his arms fall back to his sides. “I need to take a break.” 

He checked his favourites menu on the corner replicator while listening to her steps come down from the landing, made his choice and had a bottle to show Nyota when he turned round to find her standing in his lounge. 

“Presidente,” she read the label. 

“Got a taste for it in Monte Cristi,” he said, “while I was part of the committee looking at improvements to the national park.” 

“I’ll try it,” she said. 

“With or without _coconete_?” 

“Oof,” she opened her eyes wide, and shrugged. “With, I guess.” 

He told her to make herself at home, sit in the recliner. 

“Spock meditating?” he asked, opening the cupboard under the replicator to pull out a tray table. 

“Yup.” 

“Ah well, his loss. You can show him later.” 

“Show him what?” 

“Sorry --,” 

He propped the folded table against one leg and reached out for the controls on the drawing board. Should he transfer all the ideas, or would that get tedious? 

“I do that a lot, forget that stuff in my mind is still _just_ in my mind. Keep your eye on the holoprojection wall – the first drawings will appear in a second.” 

It never got old to see someone react to his designs. Nyota turned the recliner to face the wall, and did not notice the table with beer and cookies when it was set down at first. Andrew wheeled his draughtsman’s chair across the floor for himself, but didn’t sit on it. 

“So, terraria,” he said. “We’ve got several possibilities. We could copy Valerie Koskinen, and build something in the roof cavity. But it would mean altering the exterior structure to gain some height. I'd need Spock’s agreement and more time for that. The other option is to modify the existing interior – maybe the meditation area in Spock’s old bedroom? Or the space you’ve got behind the closet in the master suite.” 

“No,” Nyota said. Spock obviously liked a decisive partner. She picked up her beer bottle from the tray table and used its neck to point at the wall. 

“If you’re going to build it, it should be yours to enjoy as well. I like this option,” she tapped the projection image, “where you convert the southeast side of the first floor reception area.” 

“Cuts down the space you have for entertaining important people,” Andrew countered. 

“Does that happen a lot?” 

He considered. “Maybe … maybe. Just … not when I happen to be here, maybe.” 

Nyota laughed. “That sounds like no to me. And wouldn’t the natural light from the windows be an advantage?” 

“In summer, sure. In winter you’d want blinds.” 

“No, no, think about it. Wouldn’t the snow seem much, much more beautiful if you could contemplate it with warm sand underfoot and thermal controls fixed at thirty-two degrees?” 

His turn to laugh. 

“Fine, I admit it. That was my first choice as well.” 

And to prove it, he projected the full colour concept drawing of the finished terraria. Nyota clapped her hands. They clinked beer bottles in accord, sat down and Andrew, at least, imagined a future version of himself relaxing on the sun lounger he’d sketched. 

“Umm,” Nyota said, with her mouth full of _coconete_. “Like the _vitumbuwa_ my bibi makes. She likes to add shredded coconut.” There was a beat of silence, and then she added. “Spock took me into his old rooms and showed me --,” 

For a split second, Andrew thought he might not want to hear the rest. No way of escape. 

“-- his scrapbook.” 

“Oh right,” he said, relieved. “Yeah, I taught him the concept. Didn’t know what he would make of a silly, human substitute for perfect memory. But we agreed that, if collecting the pictures did nothing for him, it would be meaningful for me. We share the data folder.” 

“So who were Lona and Kane?” 

“The Madsen kids. Grandparents owned number 2927 until Charlie Madsen died. Property is still in the family. For some reason I’ve only seen Arnett – that's their mom – whenever I’ve been here, but I don't know whether that means anything.” 

He got up and accessed the folder from the drawing board, entered ‘Madsen’ in the search parameters and requested a slide show. 

“Saw that one,” Nyota said when the first shot came up on the wall, one of several trips to Truckee. For the next several photos she was silent, except now and again she would hum as if she recognised something. 

“Lona reminds me of me,” she said, out of the blue. Andrew poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, because he knew some similarities she might not. But then again, Vulcans were truth tellers. Maybe Spock had explained. 

“How so?” he asked. 

“When I was that age, I tried too hard. Or tried to be too many things, whether or not they were really me.” 

“Can’t say I identify,” Andrew replied, returning to the draughtsman’s chair. He saw himself in the photograph on the projection wall – captain of the _Marnock Road_ , as usual, with a Swallows and Amazons crew. He tried to remember whether he had noticed anything that day, Lona’s birthday. In hindsight, there had been clues. But they were subtle and, as he’d just admitted, he wasn’t the kind to put energy into anything that didn’t interest him. 

“Like this shot,” Nyota said, “she’s made up for a fashion shoot, and looking at the camera like she’s worldly-wise. But how old is she?” 

“Sixteen.” 

“Yeah. _So_ sixteen.” 

The slideshow moved to the next photo. 

“Is that Sugarpine Point Park?” 

Okay, Andrew thought, he must have told her. If he’s given her that much detail …, 

“Yup,” he said, “that’s the pier. It’s good Spock felt comfortable showing you that.” 

Nyota’s beer bottle was being tipped up so that she could take a sip. It tipped back down again. 

“Why wouldn’t he?” she asked.


	22. Hindsight

_Perhaps it was because he never lost interest in what (or who) was around him. He wasn’t like Kane, who reached an age where everything bored him. He wasn’t like anyone you’d ever met at school or on the vacations you didn’t spend at Tahoe. He was a stranger to Earth, even though his mother was human. There was always something new you could show him, and he always found it fascinating._

_If you spoke, he listened. With complete focus. By your sixteenth birthday you’d already had a couple of boyfriends who said they loved you and yet, after the initial excitement of getting together, you found you had to compete with their favourite game or sport for attention. They’d say, “yeah, I’m with you”, but when you quizzed them about what you’d just said, they failed the test._

_And Spock was also beautiful, but without any consciousness of it. It was a turn on to watch his brown irises shift back and forth beneath his dark lashes when he was reading. And good that he enjoyed reading, because it gave you plenty of opportunities to stare._

_You taught him how to ride a bicycle. Course you did. How else were you going to disguise your real motives, maybe even fool yourself a while? You wanted to get him away from all the others, have him to yourself. You wanted to see what might happen if the two of you were alone._

_Andrew Grayson taught you never to touch Spock’s hands. You thought it had something to do with germs, when you were younger. But maybe you saw his mother and father, maybe you caught them in a gesture used only by bonded couples on Vulcan. Xenoculture lessons aren’t always necessary. You could work out the significance of those joined fingertips yourself._

_But you didn’t dare try it on Spock. If you only saw his parents once, you wouldn’t know exactly what they were doing. Chance was against you, that you'd get it wrong. Instead, you built up his trust in you, every time you rode around the lake together. You had to function as his teacher and guide. Maybe he even confided in you. Maybe, after you had explained some peculiarity of Terran culture, he told you how the same situation would be viewed on Vulcan. You gained insight into another world, a world where emotion must stand aside, be governed._

_And Spock has a problem with his eyes. From a Vulcan perspective, his eyes persistently rebel against cultural restraint. It’s very likely that, while he was explaining an aspect of life on his home world, his eyes betrayed his own struggle, displayed a little frustration or hurt or yearning. And you, being human, caught that._

_Your sympathy is instant, isn’t it? Immediately you decide he needs an outlet, a safe context in which to reveal those emotions or perhaps a human lover who could welcome his feelings, let him be free. And now, if I imagine this conversation taking place in Sugarpine Point Park, and the two of you sitting side by side on the edge of the pier, it’s not a stretch to imagine also that you may have leaned closer, said his name softly so he would turn his eyes in your direction, and carefully gift his mouth with a kiss._

“What do you think?” Nyota asked. 

Spock was stepping into the legs of clean thermals, pulling the mesh tight over his calves and thighs and dragging the waistband into position. 

“While the incident you describe at the pier did happen, I cannot speculate, as you have, about Lona’s decision making process or the factors which influenced it.” 

“Not at all? What did you do after she kissed you?” 

“I left the pier. I retrieved my bicycle as quickly as possible and rode at a speed I knew she would not be able to match, until I returned to this house.” 

“How did you feel?” 

Spock put on thermal undershirt, long-sleeved t-shirt and a button-down check flannel she had replicated for him. Only after that did he answer. 

“Confused.” 

“Elaborate,” she said, picking up his trousers from the bed and handing them over. 

“With hindsight, I perceive that my reaction was, in truth, a combination of reactions. I had never been kissed. I had observed Terrans kissing, along with many other conventions for making skin to skin contact in public. Seeing these prompted shock and disgust, cultural biases in part, but also some curiousity and attraction, which I did not understand.” 

Nyota had a combination of reactions, watching him tuck his shirt into the trousers. She liked the look; the blue and black checked flannel suited him. At the same time, she also liked the skin he was covering. 

“With hindsight,” she asked, “did the kiss give you pleasure?” 

His hopeless, helpless eyes. No expression anywhere else on his face, but his eyes worried themselves silly. 

“I’m not jealous,” she said. “It might not happen on Vulcan, but on Earth it’s typical for adolescents to experiment with intimacy.” She smiled, recalling. “Also typical to make stupid decisions, which amaze you when you look back.” 

Spock nodded as he buttoned both shirt cuffs. 

“I admit that another element of my confusion was the pleasure I derived from that kiss,” he said. 

Nyota stood up, went over and patted him reassuringly on the chest. She meant to remove her hand, because Andrew was cooking and they were due downstairs for dinner. But flannel … flannel with Spock underneath it was distracting as hell. Her hand would not budge. It slipped inside one breast pocket, felt for his nipple below the layers and pressed, gently, over and over. 

Her stomach complained by growling. Spock’s eyes watched hers, seemed amused by her dilemma – which hunger needed to be satisfied sooner? 

“Food,” she said, and reluctantly emptied his pocket. 

The kitchen smelled amazing. The dining room table was dressed, laid, had a centrepiece arrangement of plaster pumpkins stuffed with dried flowers. 

“Spock,” Andrew crossed their path carrying a bowl of steamed rice. “I made enough for leftovers. You and Nyota can finish the rest tomorrow, or I can take it with me. Whichever.” 


	23. Plans

There was nothing wrong with the food. Andrew ate his quickly. Spock took his usual measured intervals between mouthfuls, chewing each the same number of times, and taking a sip of water after he swallowed to clear his throat. 

Nyota paused at one point – she wasn’t keeping pace with either of the men. Something had tamed her appetite. Weird, since Andrew’s surprise announcement was giving her exactly what she wanted. 

“You plan to depart,” Spock said, when they sat down to dinner. “When?” 

“Soon as I’ve finished this,” Andrew pointed at his plate. 

“Would it not be preferable to commence your journey in daylight?” 

His uncle shrugged. “Driving is driving to me. Long as the roads are clear, and traffic reports say the roads I want are ploughed and gritted all the way to Seattle.” 

Andrew watched Spock, as if waiting for a comeback that never came. Then he added, “It was great to see you again and to meet Nyota. But seriously, Spock, if the two of you have to tiptoe around keeping your relationship top secret, you need more time alone.” 

Maybe it was guilt that bothered her. Possible – Nyota volunteered for solo clear up duty, so that uncle and nephew could spend a few more minutes together. She came down to the garage and waved good-bye with a rubber gloved hand, grit her teeth against the frozen air that blew inside as the doors lifted and Andrew’s car backed out. She resisted Spock’s suggestion that she go back inside. She would not leave until he did. 

They checked, but there was nothing in Andrew’s ground floor apartment needing attention. The lounge was tidy and all the bathroom surfaces gleamed. The bedroom smelled of clean sheets. That was when Nyota decided guilt was a minor player in her emotional mix. 

“When do you think we could see him again?” she asked. 

“Uncertain,” Spock replied softly. 

They comforted themselves by going back upstairs, lighting the family room fireplace. Spock transferred Andrew’s terraria plans to the media screen over the mantle; Nyota found a blanket big enough to wrap round both of them. And they made coffee, in honour of the departed. As their body temperatures rose, Nyota found herself dwelling less on the person gone and more on which memories she was going to keep most vivid. 

“It will be imperative,” Spock interrupted her thoughts, “to plant several varieties of _saintpaulias ionantha_ in the new terraria.” 

“Then you explain to Andrew why you've become obsessed with violets,” she replied. “There are other African plants – I think a bonsai Acacia would look good. And any type of orchid.” 

By eight o’clock they had filled the imagined planting space with flowers. “Our version of Kitulo,” Nyota called it, and that meant setting Andrew’s drawings aside to upload pictures from the national park so that Spock would understand what she meant. That led, by association, to uploading pictures of Starfleet Africa’s buildings, and views of Dar-es-Salaam generally. It surprised Spock to learn she had not been home in five years, and then from necessity. 

“You should visit again,” he said. 

She should, really. Time usually made things different, and there was no reason why that should not be so for her. Nevertheless … Nyota was tempted to reveal a secret about her own past. It was not a sweet or innocent tale like Lona’s stolen kiss on Sugarpine Park pier. And it was longer. Nyota made a good case to herself for revealing the details, but also an equally strong one against it. 

She had reached the point of verdict when the front door chime rang. 

“Koskinen!” 

Off came the blanket. Nyota stuffed it under the sofa while Spock stood and used the media controls to black out the screen. She ran to the kitchen with both coffee cups and shut them in the steriliser beside already cleaned dishes. They could fix that later. When the chime rang a second time Nyota was heading for the stairs. She sprinted up one flight and hid herself in the far corner of the half landing. 

* * *

“Hello, An -- oh!” 

Spock was equally surprised when he opened the front door. But courtesy mattered more than exclamations, when temperatures were below freezing. 

“Mrs. Madsen,” he greeted her, “please come inside.” 

“Oh,” she said again, and entered. “Spock, my goodness …,” 

She stopped on the hessian shoe mat, placed the palms of her hands against either side of her head as if to remove her knitted hat. 

“My,” she continued to repeat herself, and did nothing with the hat. “I’m trying to think how long … you … well …,” 

Spock waited, in hope she might say enough to help him formulate a response. 

“Would it be wrong of me to say what a fine young man you’ve grown into?” 

“I cannot think of any reason why your comment would be inappropriate,” he replied. “Yet for my part, it seems self-serving to build a conversation from that premise.” 

His answer seemed to subdue her. The muscles in her face which pulled her eyes and mouth open wide relaxed. She removed her hands from her head. But she did not speak. 

“May I take your coat, Mrs. Madsen?” he asked. 

* * *

On the half landing, Nyota was shouting internally. 

_No. No. No coat. No._

* * *

“Oh, call me Arnett,” she said, but made no motions consistent with removing her coat. “We saw Andrew clearing the driveway on our way back from lunch. We haven’t seen him in ages … well, not as long as it’s been since we last saw you.” 

“Andrew left here at eighteen hundred hours, thirty-nine minutes, Arnett. He is returning to Seattle.” 

“Oh … oh. Shame. Oh. We were hoping to invite him over and catch up tomorrow, maybe have a little lunch. I remember he used to like my baked risotto.” 

Spock was unsure how to comment, except to confirm her recall. “He did.” 

“Well,” Mrs. Madsen’s expression opened wide again. "Perhaps … I don’t know, would – maybe you would take his place? You know, you’d be such a treat for us because it’s been years – it’s all reminding me how old I am but that’s okay --,” 

He would ask Nyota to give her opinion on the quality of Mrs. Madsen’s laughter, because she made the sound while her fingers interlaced and locked her hands together with knuckles facing him. It did not seem a mirthful gesture. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t want to you feel – oh, of course, that’s not the right word. You might, um, might have plans. Or maybe you are getting ready to leave as well?” 

Finally, a question he could answer. 

“I do not plan to leave before Sunday.” 

“Oh, well …, then maybe …,” 

Another quantity of laughter, no more convincing than the first. He could not decide whether Arnett wanted him to visit or believed she had some obligation, and strove to disguise her compliance as desire. Or it might be something else, something he had not yet learned to discern. He decided to buy time. 

“While I have no commitments tomorrow, there is a possibility of change. May I confirm tomorrow morning?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this is the only Spuhura story of mine you have read, and you are wondering what secret lurks in Nyota Uhura's past, all is revealed (gradually) over parts 1-4 of my "Soul Possessions" series.
> 
> How is that for shameless self-promotion? Writers are terrible for it, sometimes.


	24. Assignment

Chris Pike leaned back (comfy sofa they had here – he should get one like this for his quarters on the Enterprise) and took inventory. 

During his tenure as starship captain, how many tasks had he been asked to carry out that he would never have associated with the job? Academy training prepared him, to some degree, for high expectations from others. But sometimes it was a joke. People seemed to think he could do anything. 

Only last week a civilian approached him in The Shipyard Bar and asked about the best way to obedience train a puppy. 

Crewmen used to beg him to join their teams for shore leave quiz nights. After a few of those, the invitations dried up because Pike didn’t have the key to victory -- an incredible store of detailed knowledge. His job was _leading_ smart people. 

And now, in this nicely decorated, comfortable lounge, he was taking on his most peculiar assignment: posing as the reason Cadet Uhura (hired without interview to be his personal assistant) resided at 2929 Lake Terrace Avenue in Tahoe City. Also to make the residents of 2927 feel obliged to feed and entertain three people, when they really only wanted to see Spock. 

But their hostess, Arnett Madsen, seemed determined to make the occasion pleasant no matter what. 

“So Captain, tell me,” she asked, “what made you choose Spock to serve on board the USS Farragut?” 

Nice question. There had been full briefing for this unusual captain’s assignment -- he understood that the Madsens were family friends as well as neighbours, who had not seen Spock since he was fourteen. Chris did not look at Mrs. Madsen when he replied, since she sat right beside him. He addressed himself to the room, to the other sofas. Cadet Uhura shared one with Arnett’s son Kane; Arnett’s daughter sat with Spock on another. 

“Well, it was mainly his academic record,” Chris began. 

He’d wasted no time looking up Uhura’s grades. Spock needed a partner (as they learned the hard way – nothing would get him to discuss _that_ subject). Pike was not a snoop or the interfering type. He would have let Spock date anyone. But that anyone would likely stay aboard the Enterprise for the duration of a mission. Any smart captain would check their credentials. 

Seeing Uhura’s results reminded him of seeing Spock’s. Instructors left similar comments on their reports: ‘superlative’, ‘excellent comprehension’, ‘recommended for advanced level study’. And in the one area, Navigation, where Uhura’s initial marks were only average, her professor noted ‘an uncommon level of dedication’ to improve. 

She was looking like ideal officer material. 

Chris went on. “But it was the write ups from his training missions, after graduation, that really impressed me." 

Apart from Spock, only Kane looked like he wished he were somewhere else. Mrs. Madsen’s daughter (name … name … damn how he’d forgotten already) could have fooled Chris into thinking she’d made an agreement with Cadet Uhura beforehand. The two women mirrored each other. They sat straight backed on the edge of their respective seats, ankles crossed, hands folded in their laps, gazes fixed on Spock with smiles that admired. 

In Uhura’s case, Chris could guess how much was being admired. 

Over lunch, Arnett prompted Lona (Chris caught the name then) and Kane to talk about themselves, fill in the years since Spock’s last visit to Tahoe. That was fine, except for the interruptions. Mrs. Madsen felt the need to augment one story.

Examples: -

_Arnett: Sweetie, you didn’t mention your job at the aeronautic components developer._

_Lona: You mean Blusyne Warner? That was only maternity cover._

_Arnett: But the work interested you._

_Lona: A little, sure._

Or -- 

_Arnett: What about your university’s exchange trip to Vulcan?_

_Lona: Mom, Kane was talking --,_

_Arnett: Sorry, it’s just that you missed it out._

_Lona: I got bitten by a poisonous lizard. I spent the whole visit in hospital._

Chris remained patient and smiling throughout. When they’d finished eating he asked, “Mrs. Madsen, is there another room where Cadet Uhura and I could make a private subspace call to Starfleet HQ?” Obsequious cooperation was what he expected and got. Kane, probably relieved to have the diversion, got out of his seat and offered to show them his study. 

As soon as there was nobody in earshot except Spock’s significant other, Chris blurted out. 

“Cadet, they’re a fine family, but could you tell me what the heck is going on?” 

Few minutes later, after Uhura shared facts that gave him better grasp of the situation, he dipped his head, squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. If that looked like a headache, fine. Anything to keep him from busting out laughing. 

He stayed like that too long. You could hear concern in the cadet’s voice. 

“Sir, I'm not … it doesn't bother me, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

Taking a deep breath, he said, “No?” That one word came out okay. He could probably lift his head and try a few more. 

“So you don’t think it was dangerous to leave Spock in that dining room?” 


	25. Truth

Spock finished his cup of coffee. Whereas his father partook only when social custom demanded, and otherwise found no appeal in the beverage, Spock was beginning to associate coffee with Nyota’s rare opportunities to stay overnight in his apartment. The scent of her morning cup would infuse the air. He would taste it in her kiss. 

These thoughts, for the duration of fifty-eight seconds, successfully diverted his attention from Lona, seated on his right. Everyone else found reason to exit the dining room. Mrs. Madsen asked him to stay where he was; she was locating an item she believed he would want to see. Kane escorted Captain Pike to his study, but did not return. The Captain was employing a ruse, and presumably needed to speak with Nyota alone. 

Lona had also finished her coffee. It puzzled him, why she continued to hold her cup, occasionally make drinking motions with it, though it was obviously empty. She ended the silence in the room after one minute, eleven seconds. 

“Well, you didn’t run away this time.” 

He presumed the expression was used idiomatically. If Lona referred to their last occasion in each other’s company, and the manner in which he departed, he did not run. But he did seek escape. 

“Not that I would blame you,” Lona added. 

She set her coffee cup on its saucer. 

“Seriously, if you walked out right now, Mom just might be convinced.” 

“I am not certain what you mean,” Spock said. “Convinced of what?” 

“That she doesn’t know how it really is. Not then and not now.” 

“Please clarify.” 

Lona lifted her arms and crossed them over her head. 

“Ah, I wish I didn’t have to. Pains me to say it out loud but --,” she lifted one of her hands and held it up, a gesture Spock took to mean that he should not retract his request. “It was Mom’s idea that I should kiss you.” 

Surprised, Spock did not work out his next question before Lona went on to elaborate. 

“See, a smart kid would have ignored her. I was not smart. Took me another ten years and three men before I stopped taking her advice.” 

* * *

Vulcans were silent types. That had been Amanda Grayson’s advice. Lona wanted to ask for more, but mom said no. 

“ _Honey, when it comes to affairs of the heart, better not to involve the parents.”_

So what did she think she was? 

Spock still had no comment, though Lona had laid the truth bare. Could she ask for the same in return? 

“Guess that’s saying sorry,” she told him, “in a roundabout way. And sorry I wasn’t brave enough to apologise at the time.” 

“I do not require an apology,” he said. 

“But I upset you.” 

“My reaction may also be attributable to youth. To use your parlance, I was not smart either.” 

“You? You were amazing. Remember when you invited Kane and me to try your study pod?” 

“The Vulcan academic curriculum is rigorous, but does not encompass all aspects of knowledge. Regarding details of human culture and custom, I learned most from my visits here.” 

Lona smiled, remembering. “Was fun teaching you.” 

Wrong words – they created more silence. 

“I don't mean I was trying to … you know, _educate_ you when we sat on the pier --,” 

Spock tipped his head, the way he used to do whenever he was thinking. 

“I have been given to understand that what occurred may have resulted from your own desire to learn. An experiment.” 

“Ah …,” she said. “Right.” 

From somewhere beyond the dining room, Lona heard a noise. Could be Captain Pike opening Kane’s study, or Mom pretending to search the kitchen cupboards so she could eavesdrop. Could be a product of her own silly imagination, just like …, 

Well shit, she had to know, one way or another. 

“But ‘experiment’ sounds cold, like you were my science project --,” she drew a square on the tablecloth, about the size of a PADD. “-- ‘What I Learned About Vulcans’ by Lona Madsen”. 

“Would I not have been a suitable subject?” 

“Point I'm making is that it wasn’t clinical. It was … it was a gift.” 

She couldn’t have silence just now. Rather than risk that happening, she kept on talking. 

“I wanted to give it, plain and simple. You told me you didn’t have friends on Vulcan, yet you seemed to know how to be one. I liked you better than my human friends; I wanted to show you. Being stupid, I admitted all that to Mom. She told me I should kiss you. Don’t know what I expected to happen … anything but what did. And Mom, you should have heard her after that -- ‘ _you must have done it wrong, too soon, too soft or too hard, or you should have asked permission, is that what they do on Vulcan, maybe?_ ’ My god.” 

She heard a second sound, like the first one. Time was running out. Lona lowered her voice. 

“Spock, she thinks she can fix everything today, over lunch. Not the way we’ve just done, you know, talk about it honestly. She thinks you ran away because you were afraid to admit how much you liked me. She thinks we should have been more than friends. I’ve argued with her, but she won’t listen. She can't accept the fact you must have hated that kiss. That’s why I'm suggesting you leave now, because I can’t figure another way to get it through her stubborn head --,” 

“Lona …,” 

“Yup, I get you.” 

She stood out of her chair and he stood out of his. “I am not certain I --,” Spock began. 

“Really, it’s for the best,” she assured him. 

“Lona --,” 

“I’ll tell your Captain … something. Doesn’t matter.” 

“Lona --,” 

* * *

There seemed no other way to make his point. She was turning as if to leave the room herself. He reached out and caught her right shoulder to stop the motion. 

“I am not prepared to carry out your suggestion.” 

Lona’s expression suggested annoyance. 

“Okay,” she said. “Then be prepared for more unsubtle hints, and probably an invitation to stay for dinner.” 

“Your mother has always shown me great kindness. I cannot repay that with discourtesy.” 

Lona cast her eyes down and nodded. “Sure. Of course.” 

After that she sighed. 

“She’s been kinder than me. I was angry when she told me about lunch. I didn’t want you to visit.” 

“May I ask why?” 

“You can’t guess? Because I couldn’t sit here, making small talk as though I never did anything wrong. I knew we’d need to have a conversation like this, and I would have to face the truth about what happened to you on the pier. Who wants to face the truth if they can hide from it?” 

* * *

He tipped his head again, the thinking signal. It was getting honest to God difficult to have him inside their house. Fuck his good manners, or he would have been gone by now. She could have taken something for her headache. 

“Truth is highly valued on Vulcan,” he said, finally. “And as you have been truthful with me, it follows I should be truthful in return.” 

Lona shifted. He wasn’t going to see her hand grip the back of her chair. 

“I did not hate your kiss.” 

* * *

Captain’s Assignment: prevent hostilities. There was no denying it – they caught Lona and Spock in the act. Both of them pulled away fast but not fast enough. Cadet Uhura turned to stone at the dining room entrance.

When Mrs. Madsen turned up, she had to steer round Nyota. She read the situation in a split second. 

“Oh,” she said, a little too brightly.

“Arnett,” Chris said, before she could go further, “I’m afraid we have to cut our visit short. High Command has an urgent assignment for myself and Commander Spock. We need to be back in uniform as soon as possible.” 


	26. Orders

Pike took command. Nyota was grateful. Not that she was the kind to obey without thinking, but that obedience might give her time for thought. 

The moment all three of them got away from the Madsen house, onto the sidewalk, the Captain lowered his voice and said, “There will be no talking until I allow it. Is that understood?” 

She and Spock acknowledged the order in unison. "Sir.” 

Already it was getting dark, the dull sky overhead duller. A cold wind pushed against them as they walked, as if it didn’t feel they should return to number 2929. With her Gorky coat in full protection mode – snood and hood covering her head – Nyota could not see Spock beside her. It was the only thing making the journey easier. 

As soon as they unlocked their own front door, Pike gave his next instructions. 

“Commander, you and I need a place to talk privately. Suggestions?” 

“My father would use the music room.” 

“Music room it is. Cadet, remain on standby. You’ll be called in.” 

“Sir,” Nyota said again. The two men stayed in the foyer long enough to hang up their coats, then left her alone. 

She kept her Gorky on, protection against a chill caused by confusion and hurt. What she saw in the Madsen’s dining room made no sense. Spock wasn’t -- couldn’t be like – could he? Nyota thought she knew what he would or would not do, and her anger was tearing itself in two, not sure whether to burn against him or against herself for being self-satisfied, convinced she did not have a rival for his affections. 

Snow melted off her boots and she trampled the wet patches on the foyer rug, pacing back and forth. Time passed like torture. She was sorely tempted to ask the household computer if it could tap the music room conversation. Or would that make things worse? 

What made things worse was a quiet tapping at the front door. 

* * *

_Shit_. 

Lona had gambled that only Spock’s hearing would be sensitive enough to pick up the sound of her knocking. 

But it wasn’t the end of the world. Whoever opened the door would be angry to find her on the other side. Better it be the Captain’s assistant – as good as a stranger and Lona could be blunt without making things worse, because things were about as bad as they could be. 

“I know you and Spock are together,” she said. 

The cadet stepped out onto the porch and shut the front door. _Wow,_ Lona thought, _that angry. W_ _on’t even have me inside_. 

“How?” Uhura asked her.

“When you came back in the dining room. The look you gave me – I recognised it. I dated a married guy once.” 

Lona expected a sneer of judgement after that confession. For whatever reason, she was getting only the same cold, neutral face that answered the door. 

“Well ...,” she went on, “I came to apologise. I would not have kissed him if I’d known --,” 

The cadet sneered then. 

“Yes okay, one married guy – _one_. It was a mistake, believe me. I still can’t order carbonara without remembering how it felt to have a plate of it _pushed_ into my face, the pasta all slimy and slipping down the front of my dress. Like, I found bits of ham later in my bra and my hair …,” 

Lona stopped. The Captain’s assistant was a hard case. The carbonara story always got a smile, a laugh at least half the time. Not now. 

“So anyway, good thing we’d eaten all the food by the time you … look, why don’t you act like a couple, anyway? Do you have to keep it secret from your Captain?” 

Lona waited out the glare. 

“Vulcans prefer to keep personal matters private,” the cadet said, in a tone of voice that clearly added _'bitch'_ , without saying the word out loud and sacrificing her perfect, professional presentation. 

“Well, if I’d known yesterday, I would have told Spock to forget private. No, I’d have paid him. It would have been worth a lot of credits to see the look on my mom’s face if she had walked in on _you two_ kissing …,” 

* * *

“Sorry?” 

Nyota was more confused now. 

“Seriously,” Lona went on, “best thing that could happen. Because you know, mom never quite gives up hope that Spock and I could be --, you know, and we couldn’t. Definitely couldn’t.” 

The front door latch clattered, startled her. The panel opened enough for Captain Pike to put his head outside, shift his eyes back and forth between the two of them. 

“Cadet,” he settled on her, “you were on standby. Ms. Madsen, we do have a lot of work to--,” 

“Sir,” Nyota touched Lona’s coat sleeve. “Ms. Madsen has information pertinent to our assignment. Information she needs to … explain in more detail.” 

* * *

Poor Spock. He looked exactly the way he did at Sugarpine Point pier, just before he ran away. This time he was under orders, and couldn’t go anywhere. 

Lona would free him. She didn’t answer to anyone but herself. 

“I was only relieved,” she announced to him, the Captain and Cadet Uhura. “Relieved and grateful and happy because I didn’t screw up bad enough to lose a friend. So I went all spur of the moment, because of what Spock said. I just wanted to make a better memory. I didn’t know you were already spoken for …,” 

“Eh?” Captain Pike interrupted. “Cadet, please tell me you haven’t --,” 

“She hasn’t,” Lona defended her. “I figured it out. And I know how to keep it secret, if that’s worrying you.” 


	27. Unpacking

Lona Madsen’s plan: 

Step One. Lona will sit in the front passenger seat of Spock’s car. He will drive out of the garage, turn right and pull over to the curb outside number 2927. Lona will get out, go into the house and stay just long enough to pack a small suitcase. 

“Mom will be watching, you can bet on it,” Lona advised Spock. “Be prepared to roll down your window and wave on my signal.” 

Step Two – Spock will follow Lona’s directions to the Red Wolf Lakeside Lodge, in the town of Kings Beach, about sixteen kilometres away. 

“Know someone who works there,” Lona explained. Nyota just winked. 

“Not that kind of knowing. But it's not a bad suggestion -- I probably _would_ be better off dating Marum.” 

The parking lot at Red Wolf Lodge is large, and it will not be difficult to stop in a dark, secluded space. That is the cue for Lona to get out, open the trunk and her suitcase. 

Step Three – From her case, Lona will remove the Wedze sports bag, the one that normally holds all the Madsen family skiis and snowboards. It’s just the right size to stow away one slender Starfleet cadet, who will have been keeping herself out of sight in the footwell of the back seat. 

“I’ll leave the zipper open at the top,” Lona explains, “like this, for air.” 

Step Four – Lona thanks them both for providing a way to escape from 2927, where the atmosphere was starting to seem suffocating. To alleviate Spock’s concern, because the plan involves deceiving Lona’s mother, a timed message from his PADD will reach Arnett Madsen after First Contact break. 

“If the truth comes from you, Mom won’t be able to talk herself out of it.” 

His PADD is also used to book a room for Lona at the Lodge. She will say her good-byes in the parking lot and go inside. 

Step Five – Spock, with Nyota now cleverly disguised as winter recreation equipment, will drive the car out of Kings Beach northwest on highway 267. After another sixteen-kilometre journey, they will arrive at the five-star Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Spock will check in at Reception. If asked he will say yes, thank you, he very likely is the first Vulcan to show an interest in cross country skiing. 

Step Six – Once Spock is settled inside the fifth-floor suite, also booked from his PADD, the highlight of his stay will be unpacking. 

All suites had fireplaces in the bedroom. Nyota felt heat through the Wedze bag and warm carpet under her back where she was laid down. She listened to the sound of the zipper buzz as it ran from over her head down to her feet. 

When the flap lifted and she could see, Spock was kneeling beside her. 

“I continue to have reservations concerning your participation in Lona’s plan,” he said, poker faced. 

“This bag is padded, Spock. And that's on top of my coat. I was just as comfortable here as I was inside the escape pod.” 

“I highly doubt --,” 

When she put out her arms he stopped talking, eyes darted from her face to her fingers. 

“You can check for damage,” Nyota said. “I would enjoy that.” 

He lifted her and himself in a single, seamless motion. Then he let her go, put his hands behind his back. 

“Oh,” she said, when he also took two steps away from her. 

“We have not had opportunity to discuss the … unfortunate incident … in private. I would understand if you wished to do so, and therefore I did not think intimate contact was appropriate.” 

“Right …,” Nyota said. “Well, yes, now that you mention it. There is something I need to know.” 

He stood like a subordinate expecting orders. She tried to imagine how it happened, from what little description had been given. Nyota had to allow for the fact Lona was taller. She stepped back herself a little way, to allow distance for acceleration, and took a running leap. 

* * *

The impact, in terms of weight and velocity, was insignificant. Spock kept his stance without flinching. But his reaction was wholly unlike the one in the Madsen dining room. His arms caught Nyota before she could fall. They did not try to make a barrier between their bodies, or grope frantically to find a chair he could duck behind. Her kiss landed harder than Lona’s and was slightly off target. But he sighed to feel her lips find their way to his, and where he had grown a little colder inside the temperature began to improve. 

He could sense that she was counting the seconds, rationing her inexplicable, irresistible intoxicant. When she broke contact she asked, “Was it like that?” 

“Negative,” he said, and pulled his lips inside his mouth to capture every bit of her taste. This was the correct response, it seemed, because he was rewarded with another kiss. 

The rest of the evening gradually melted into a state of mind that once troubled him. Never was he informed that his rationality could be so easily dismantled; it was Vulcan’s best kept secret. After their first night together he was ashamed. The inebriation resulting from kisses had no effect on memory; Spock had painful recall of lost coordination, hallucination, babbling nonsense. 

Then there was the second time, the third, fourth and fifth and so on. More kissing was required to achieve symptoms – by this they knew a tolerance was developing. And precisely because the debility would not last, would become something viewed in retrospect, Spock found he cared less about it. He would admit, to Nyota only, that he occasionally felt anticipatory excitement, because that peculiar natural high was his only permissible release from Vulcan mental constraints, a kind of liberation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, everybody, for waiting a bit longer. I was unwell over the weekend and since it did involve a fever, I got myself tested for Covid-19 and the result was negative. Feeling much better now.


	28. Searches

Body adaptive mattress overnight, hot water shower next morning and damn good coffee. Captain's assignments weren't all hard work. 

Chris carried his cup into the family room, drew aside one panel of the heavy, insulating curtains that covered the french doors. Outside, winter sunshine made the snow gleam. Light caught drops of melt water as they fell from the porch eaves but the road looked dry. There was time for exploration. He could take a walk, find that deli Arnett mentioned and secure a supply of this medium roast Blue Mountain for his office kitchen in the dockyards. 

As carefree moments went, the time spent sipping coffee and watching a Steller’s jay perched on a nearby pine would have qualified as perfect, save for one thing. Chris turned away from the view. He’d checked the room once already, but a feeling in his gut, honed by away missions, told him he was not alone at 2929 Lake Terrace Avenue. 

The household computer confirmed it. A series of barely audible ticks told him it was accessing the surveillance camera points, one after another. Either this was a part of a regular security routine, or they were operating under instructions to look for something. 

Chris moved away from the windows, stood on the rug in front of the fireplace. 

“Can I … help you?” he asked. 

* * *

Spock needed additional sleep after coitus, to achieve sobriety. On these occasions Nyota rose before he did, and would be in the midst of her daytime activities while he was taking a shower and changing his clothes. 

This morning he could not find her. In the course of searching the five rooms in the Ritz Carlton suite, Spock noted that Nyota's coat and boots were missing. From this evidence, it seemed reasonable to conclude she had left their accommodation, intending to go outside the hotel. Yet he hesitated to accept that explanation. The two of them were compatible in their aversion to low temperatures. And though the odds of their being observed by anyone who might report back to Starfleet Academy were significantly reduced, events of the last few days demonstrated just how likely the unlikely was to happen. 

It was possible she needed to retrieve something from the car. This theory satisfied him while he operated the kitchen replicator and produced a bowl of millet porridge. Spock grew steadily less satisfied as he ate, and once he returned the empty bowl to the replicator pad so that its molecules could be reincorporated, he had rejected that idea altogether. He put on his own coat and boots. 

He was about to let himself out of the suite when he spotted a shadow. It appeared suddenly across the floor of the main balcony, where he had parted the curtains covering the glass doors to let in sunlight. When the shadow shifted, so did Spock, from one exit to another. 

“Nyota?” 

She stood in the centre of the balcony, facing the rail and the view beyond. The spot was furnished with two chairs, one of which was occupied by a quantity of fallen snow. The other had been swept clean. 

She turned at the sound of her name, but with her hooded head bowed. Spock could not see her face, but he observed how tightly her arms wrapped round her body. He went to her, added his embrace to hers. 

“Nyota, I would conjecture that this seating is provided for use in summer --,” 

Then she looked up at him. 

“You are crying.” 

She nodded. She seemed at the point of speaking, lips parted, eyes shifting right to indicate left hemisphere processing. Instead, he felt a trembling release of breath, and Nyota sniffed. 

“Please come inside,” he urged. 

He led her to the bedroom, ignited the gas fireplace and stood with her close to the flames. She cried for another ninety-eight seconds, with her face pressed into his shoulder. After that, she pushed back the hood of her coat and contemplated the wet patch she had created for another nineteen seconds. 

“Ohhh,” she made her first speech sound, blotted her tears with a gloved hand. “Just when I was hoping you wouldn’t find me.” 

“I believe my timing was fortuitous,” he answered. “Not only were you emotionally distressed, but clearly in some physical discomfort, due to the cold.” 

“Distressed,” she waved her hand as if to push away the sound. “Silly, girlish blubbing.” 

“May I enquire as to the cause?” 

She sighed. “Thinking ahead. Tomorrow is Monday, right? Classes start. I was imagining our drive back to campus, and then I realised Captain Pike would probably take the escape pods when he beams to the dockyards, and that you must have some other plan to get me home because I can’t be an ordinary passenger in your car. Then I started to calculate – maybe I have one more hour alone with you, once you wake up, before we have to leave and after that we return to San Francisco separately and then it’s back to … you know … normal …,” 

Fresh tears welled in her eyes, dangerously close to a breach. Nyota made an exasperated noise and wiped her face with a coat sleeve. 

“And I’ll be fine,” she asserted, “once I’m back in my routine. I have so much work to do, I’ll be too busy to think … or feel. But right now --.” 

Spock watched her close her eyes and exert her will over her mood. She had been trained in various techniques of mental control by the Vulcan Tetov’yth T’Shin, whom her parents had nominated as her guardian. In true Nyota Uhura fashion, she performed these well. Within three minutes, twelve seconds her breathing was regular. The muscles in her jaw and neck had relaxed and when her eyes opened, they were dry. 

“There,” she said. “I’m ready.” 

* * *

Nyota waited for Spock to let her go. 

“Your mastery of emotion is admirable,” he said, maintaining his hold. “And I would not dispute the efficacy of your technique. Nevertheless, I recall my mother explaining to me that, for humans, there is greater benefit to be gained from the practice called soothing. As I understand it, this combines recognition of the emotion with actions to mitigate the cause, if that cannot be eliminated.” 

“A change to Academy rules would eliminate the cause,” she said. 

“And is highly unlikely. Would you be suitably soothed if I were able to increase the remaining time we may spend together?” 

* * *

“Captain Pike?” 

A subspace transmitter in the ceiling projected a holographic image of Gaila Jadillu into the family room. 

“Cadet,” Chris said. “Good to finally meet you. Commander Spock has been singing your praises since you became his faculty aide.” 

The Orion’s smile was delighted and delightful. How did they do that? Chris had always been told it was pheromones, but even the scent-free, virtual Cadet Jadillu made him wish, for a second, that he didn’t have an example to set. 

“Thank you, sir. I am looking for the Commander, as it happens.” 

“Let me guess. You’ve been all over this house, virtually speaking, and the only person you’ve found is me.” 

If he didn’t have an example to set, Chris would be willing to bet hard earned credits that Gaila’s expression was guilty. 

“The Commander asks me to hack all his personal systems regularly,” she said. “And recommend improvements, if I can break through.” 

“Wow,” Chris said, “then he must think highly of you.” 

“Sir, he sent me a message just now. I accessed the household security system to reply.” 

“Ah well, that seems to be the theme of this holiday break. Changes of plans.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting close to the end now -- maybe three, four chapters to go.
> 
> Look out next week for some detailed announcements about what is coming up next!


	29. Surprise, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note - On 4th July 2020, I made an edit to this chapter, changing the name of Mount Pluto to Mount Tulising.
> 
> What I wanted to reflect, in the story, was that many place names around Lake Tahoe will have been renamed by the 23rd century using words from the language of the indiginous Washoe people who lived on the land originally. Tulising is a modified spelling of the Washoe term for wolf.
> 
> I took the term from a post on the Washoe Language/Culture blog, URL -- https://washoetribe.us/cultural-resources/language-culture-department-blog.html
> 
> Because of Covid-19, I did not think it was a good time to contact anyone from the Washoe settlements and distract them by asking what their people once called Mount Pluto. But I would be very interested to know, and to edit this chapter and chapter 30 with names the Washoe would prefer for the mountains north of Lake Tahoe. This note is an invitation to anyone reading, if they have that knowledge or know someone who does, to please contact me. My email address is posted in my AO3 profile.

Nyota was asked to make a promise: remain where she was while Spock left the bedroom. 

“I must resume my identity as a smuggler,” he explained, “in order to formulate the logistics of our return to the Academy. Secrecy is paramount.” 

She smiled. He said it while softly tracing the curve of her right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, and gave away the truth telepathically. He wanted the new plan to be a surprise. 

She said, “If you’re going to be a while, I’d like to sit down.” 

A chair was fetched and positioned near the fire. Though she did not request it, a cup of replicated coffee was provided soon after that, along with the hotel’s information PADD, opened to the shopping page for the lobby galleria. And through the sound system, Malindi nostalgia funk began to play, an intro she recognised.

* * *

Thirty-six minutes and seventeen seconds were required to investigate options. Spock spent another twelve minutes on a call with Cadet Jadillu to discuss details. It seemed imperative, before he left the suite and made final arrangements, to check that Nyota was not finding the wait tedious or uncomfortable. 

Her exact promise had been not to venture beyond the circumference of the small rug which lay in front of the bedroom fireplace. This space restriction was Nyota’s suggestion. He would have allowed her access to the whole room and its ensuite. But he agreed to her terms, only because he could read her emotions at the time and knew she derived amusement from the idea. 

He found her dancing. 

It was not an altogether surprising discovery. The playlist he created from the hotel’s data files included music Nyota stored on her PADD, which would therefore hold particular appeal. And Cadet Jadillu once told him how confused she was by her Terran roommate. Nyota liked to dance, but showed little interest in events which involved doing so in public. 

"Maybe it’s another part of her secret self,” Gaila said, without divulging more. “Maybe she only dances for people she trusts.” 

The notion was an attractive one. Nyota saw him enter the bedroom but did not cut short her performance. Her coat had been removed, consigned to the chair. She stood with arms close to her body, knees bent and feet together, in the centre of the rug. Her spine rotated, curled, stretched. Her shoulders dipped and rolled while her hands, splay-fingered, travelled over her jeans, back and front. 

He resolved to add the song which inspired such pleasurable viewing to his own PADD. 

* * *

Disappointment did not show in his face when the song ended. Nyota straightened up, hid her hands behind her. He approached and touched her cheek with his index and middle fingers only, an _ozh'esta_. Through skin they exchanged feelings, how exciting it was to have an audience and how that audience wished there were time for encores. 

“Our departure is imminent,” he said, “though I cannot give an exact estimate. I must go down to the Reservations desk. Perhaps you were attracted to an item of merchandise …?” 

Skin said he hoped this was the case. Where she was concerned, Spock had a shopping compulsion. She had to break contact in order to turn and pick up the PADD from the chair, to show him what had caught her eye. The boutique called itself Aenar, and kept a tight colour range on its wares. Puzzlement did show in his face when he saw the photograph. To be fair, the picture assumed the customer already knew what they were buying, and wanted a closeup shot to judge quality. But Spock took the PADD from her without asking questions. 

* * *

Spock eased her self-imposed restrictions, so that she could move round within the whole bedroom and pack. When he returned from Reservations, his suitcase stood ready on the round rug. Beside it was the Wedze sports bag, with Nyota tucked snugly inside, gazing up at him. 

“You may rest assured that this confinement will be much shorter,” he said. 

Then he closed and zipped the bag, eased it up onto its wheelbase. He took both pieces of luggage out onto the main balcony and waited. 

He considered it unfortunate that Nyota would not see the hoverpod descend. Only he could admire the compact design of the little craft, its motion in air quick to change direction, like insectoid flight. It produced less noise and draught, when it landed, than his own car. It opened from the back. 

“Commander,” the pilot saluted him as he stepped onto the balcony. “Good day for it. I came from Mount Tulising. Visibility was excellent, all the way.” 

Spock allowed the pilot to scan his palmprint and activate the hire contract. Operation codes for the pod were transferred to his PADD. The polite offer to place his skiis inside one of the hold lockers was declined. The two men traded salutes; the pilot let himself out of the suite. 

Spock enjoyed the sound Nyota made when it was safe to unzip the Wedze bag and let her step onto the tiny flight deck of the pod. There was no term in Standard that described it, to his knowledge. But it was high in her vocal range and emitted too quickly to be premeditated. 

She made a second sound, similar to the first, that ended with qualities of laughter. 

“Wow.” 

They were, at that point, in a hold formation at one hundred and fifteen meters above ground. The hoverpod’s wraparound view screen was filled with a panorama of white ski runs, cloudless sky and dark constellations of coniferous trees. 

“It’s like … like … travelling by water drop.” 

He indicated the co-pilot's chair, with its seat rotated to face her. Nyota approached it as though she actually was walking on water, taking care not to break whatever surface tension kept her from falling through. 

“We aren’t …,” she turned herself round and surveyed the flying controls. “No, we can’t be. We can’t go back to San Francisco in this.” 

“We could,” he replied. “Injector capacity would allow us to make the journey in less than an hour.” 

“But I would need to hide in the bag again.” 

“You would,” he said. “And I believe I have expressed my views about this.” 

“You have. So where are we going?” 

“Sightseeing,” Spock told her. 


	30. Flying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end note if you know the ski slopes north of Tahoe, and wonder why you don't recognise any of the named mountains.

Spock set in a course, had it superimposed on a topographical map and uploaded the data to the co-pilot's display. 

“We will begin with a tour of the principle summits which lie between our hotel and the ski resort at Chimeash Valley,” he said. 

He named the mountains as the pod flew over them: Sukukung Ridge, Mount Washoe, Galis Peak, Pawawling Rock, Mount Wel mel ti and Mount Tulising. At the lowest impulse settings, the excursion was leisurely and visibility excellent, as he had been advised. He descended to altitudes which allowed Nyota a closer view of people skiing. He spotted one Andorian, riding without helmet on the gondola lift. It was not his former Academy roommate, but he thought it likely Bovial was somewhere in the vicinity. 

“Is that it?” Nyota asked, when they were in sight of the hotel again. 

“Negative,” he replied. “The next stage of our tour will be a circuit around Lake Tahoe.” 

“Wonderful!” 

“During which you will determine the course and operate the pod.” 

Nyota’s immediate reaction was not easy to interpret. It was less exuberant. 

“Okaaay …,” 

“It would augment your current coursework for Rudimentary Navigation. I believe Professor Abdulov finished teaching Syllabus section Two on Sub-Atmospheric Flight before the holiday break.” 

“Yes …, yes.” 

“And the configuration of the pod controls closely resembles your simulators.” 

He watched her reach out, tentatively select the menus to plan a journey. Her gaze diverted on two occasions from the controls to him. Perhaps she looked for reassurance, though she did not need it. There was no fault with the coordinates feeding through to his display, except for the final destination. 

“We will not return to the hotel,” he said. “You will land the hoverpod at 2929 Lake Terrace Avenue.” 

“Land?” Nyota exclaimed. “We don’t simulate that until classes resume.” 

“By which time you will have the advantage of experience.” 

* * *

Nyota anchored her route to keep the pod in line with the highway they took from Kings Beach, and stuck with the road until she reached the California state line. Then she got brave. A few detours appeared in her Tahoe circuit – she cut due east to take in Washoe Lake and Carson City, cut back again to skirt over the state parklands as far as the south shore at Emerald Bay. The last leg would fly low over open water. That would be the closest imitation of deep space – without landmarks she would need to rely on her coordinate shifts. 

Spock made no comment on her choices, only advised her to augment or reduce thrust to achieve her trajectories or evade other aircraft. By the time she was skimming the peaks of south-eastern mountains the anxiety gave way, admitted it was wrong and left her, so there was nothing to overshadow the exhilaration. 

“Spock,” she called out, when she looped around Emerald Bay and did not need a single piece of advice from him. “I can do this!” 

Nerves came back for the landing, but they were not as distracting. Spock suggested she get down to the altitude she wanted and fly past the back of the lakehouse, to determine possible spots. There were lots of places, but Nyota was conscious now of their neighbours. 

“Can we get this thing inside the boathouse?” she asked. 

“That would be my choice,” Spock replied, “were I the pilot.” 

She had to abort her first approach; she misjudged the height of the interior walkway. The second attempt overcompensated, but the pod did not hit anything and Nyota felt she made an elegant, if very slow, deacceleration and stop. 

One problem. The hoverpod ceased vibrating as soon as thrusters cut. But she didn’t. Nyota stood up, moved a couple of steps and decided any more would be unwise. She made a less elegant landing in Spock’s lap. 

He put one hand around her back to secure her and the other against her meld points. 

“I did not anticipate that you would find the experience quite so … enervating.” 

“I just need a couple of minutes,” she said. 

Slight exaggeration. Her body needed one minute, really, to stop producing all the chemicals which heightened her concentration and reaction times, and now left her feeling like woman made from gelatine. After that she was probably taking advantage. 

Spock, still attached to her thoughts, offered no opinion. 

“I want a way to thank you,” she said, “but all the ideas I have …,” 

“Um,” Spock agreed, evaluating them. “They would interfere with the plans I have in place for the remainder of today.” 

* * *

Captain Pike was waiting in the breakfast nook when Nyota opened the balcony doors. 

“Impressed by your flying skills, Cadet.” 

“Sir? You were watching?” 

“Not the way you’re thinking. You can’t see much of the lake from here. Seems someone sent me the cockpit data.” 

Spock entered the house behind her, ignored the fact that two people were staring at him and walked through the nook into the family room and continued towards the stairs. 

“Same someone seems to be in a hurry,” the Captain added. “Any idea why?” 

Pike did not wait for her answer, which might or might not mean he had his own theory. He followed Spock and Nyota followed them both – they went downstairs and into the garage, to the place on the concrete floor where Spock had unloaded the escape pods to make more room inside his car. 

One was open. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renamed Geography in this chapter: 
> 
> As per my note at the beginning of the last chapter, I wanted to imagine a 23rd century where a number of landmarks had been renamed to better represent the indigenous peoples who lived on the land before European colonisation.  
> In this chapter, Spock flies the hoverpod in a loop passing over six mountain peaks – Sawtooth Ridge, Mount Big Chief, Silver Peak, Painted Rock, Mount Watson and Mount Pluto. They have been renamed, respectively: 
> 
> Sukúkung Ridge (Dog Ridge)  
> Mount Washoe (named for the group of tribes which originally lived around Lake Tahoe)  
> Gális Peak (Winter Peak)  
> Pawáwling Rock (Blue Squirrel Rock)  
> Mount Wel mel ti (named for the specific tribe which originally lived around north Lake Tahoe)  
> Mount Tulísing (Wolf Mountain) 
> 
> I credit two sources for helping me choose these names: 
> 
> https://escholarship.org/content/qt4zd060kz/qt4zd060kz.pdf - Caitlin Keliiaa’s 2012 UCLA thesis “Washiw Wagayay Maŋal: Reweaving the Washoe Language” 
> 
> https://washoetribe.us/cultural-resources/language-culture-department-blog.html - The Washoe Tribe Website, Language/Cultural blog entry teaching the Washoe names for animals. 
> 
> Because of the Covid-19 crisis, I did not think it was a good time to contact anyone from the Washoe and distract them by asking whether their people already had names for these mountains. But I would be very interested to know, and edit this chapter and chapter 29 with names the Washoe would prefer for the mountains north of Lake Tahoe. This note is an invitation to anyone reading, if they have that knowledge or know someone who does, to please contact me. My email address is posted in my AO3 profile.


	31. Sojourner

“Olsen!” 

“Sir.” 

“Just because an escape pod is built to withstand extreme conditions, doesn’t mean you should handle it like a sack of dirty laundry.” 

“Sir?” 

“Just --,” the captain made a gesture, the meaning of which Spock could not exactly determine. “Less bashing when you set it down. More grace.” 

Chief Engineer Olsen tipped his head once. This minimal movement was necessary; the muscles in his neck and jaw appeared tense. He set holding clamps on the first pod, stepped out of the shuttle, wheeled the empty gurney away from the hatch and brought the other one forward.

Spock assisted him with the second loading. 

“Thanks,” Olsen said quietly, as they secured that pod inside the hull. “I knew Pike was a guy who sweats the details, but I wasn’t expecting that.” 

Since the Chief Engineer would be with them for the journey to Spacedock One, Spock made no comment and kept his thoughts to himself. He took his place beside Pike in the shuttle cockpit and carried out pre-flight checks. Olsen accepted the captain’s expression of gratitude, chose the closest passenger seat and began to relate details pertaining to his First Contact Day dinner. 

“Twenty-three of us, believe it or not, because we combined both sides of the family. Mom turned the dining room table into a buffet circuit, and we sat all over the place. Good really … at least I got some exercise going back for seconds.” 

Conversation continued in this vein. The captain recalled the largest First Contact gathering he attended in 2240, and both men agreed on their dislike for the taste and texture of pumpkin pie. Spock took advantage of their diverted attention and sent a message to Nyota’s pod. 

_I estimate your release in forty-seven minutes._

* * *

It was forty-nine minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Nyota guessed correctly that Spock would regard the delay as if it had been longer. The instant her pod hatch lifted, and before he could put words to his expression, she reached out with both hands and placed them on either side of his anxious eyes. 

“Are these tested for comfort?” she asked. “Because this one passes.” 

That, and the curious anticipation pouring from her skin, convinced him to skip whatever he was going to say first. 

“Captain Pike and Lieutenant Olsen have disembarked, but will return shortly. I must ask you to remain concealed in a different location.” 

She stowed away inside an empty equipment locker and listened to the sounds – the impact of boots stepping up onto the shuttle floor, Pike’s order, Olsen’s grunts of effort and his apology, after Nyota heard an impact noise. 

“It’s all right, Lieutentant,” she heard the captain say. “Maybe I fuss too much. Hard not to be house-proud when you’re fitting out a new starship.” 

After a series of more heavy footsteps, and the hiss of the closing hatch, there was silence. Nyota didn’t have the escape pod’s systems to measure the wait or divert her with other information. She spent a few moments reviewing the journeys she had made since she woke up – the hoverpod flight around Lake Tahoe, beaming from the garage at 2929 Lake Terrace Avenue to the Iowa shipbuilding yards, and finally carried out of Earth’s atmosphere to spacedock where the Enterprise was stationed for the next phase of her construction. 

Hardly likely that she would have guessed those events in advance. But with nothing else to do inside a dark locker, Nyota’s brain couldn’t help but scratch at the itch, try to work out what might happen next. There was no accounting for time then. The sound of the hatch surprised her. 

“All clear?” she asked, when Spock opened the locker. 

“All clear.” 

Nyota stepped out, took the liberty she did not have when she left the escape pod to survey the shuttle’s interior. 

“Sojourner class,” she concluded. 

“Correct.” 

“Was that all there was available?” 

“Negative. The dockyard shuttlebay contained its full complement of vehicles, less one of the shunter models.” 

“A shunter would have been the logical choice for a short flight to move equipment.” 

Spock put an arm around her waist and rubbed the place where his hand came to rest. 

“True,” he said. But he would not say more. His hand, the more willing communicator, was slipping lower. 

“So …,” she leaned into him. “Did you take the Sojourner because you had a longer flight planned?” 

“Negative.” 

Her tip of her nose, touching him on the neck, felt anticipation and pleasure in two distinct forms. It didn’t take telepathy to work out one reason; Spock was using his other hand to open the front of her coat. And maybe she knew him well enough to be confident that he wanted more of her interrogation. 

“Okay, if the shuttle isn’t going anywhere then you chose it because … because it has better facilities for its occupants. In the upper level fusilage there should be sections for sleeping, eating, physiology maintenance, recreation …,” 

Nyota let her voice trail away to nothing. Her coat was open, which drew attention to the difference in their clothing. Only Spock was uniformed. 

“Hmm,” she said, and waited. Sure enough, he took the bait. 

“Perhaps I may assist your deduction process by providing a small amount of information.” 

“A hint?” 

“A hint.” 

“That seems fair. My working theory was that you needed the Sojourner as a base, and if we needed a base then we might be venturing out, and if we ventured out it might be to see the Enterprise …,” 

Try as she might, Nyota could not say the name of the new flagship without emotion, betraying how excited she got when the escape pod systems first told her where she was going. 

“But,” she said, “now I question that theory. If you were taking me on board, you wouldn’t have hidden me from the Chief Engineer. And I’m sure you’d want me better dressed.” 

“A uniform may be replicated,” Spock said. 

Nyota held her hopes in check. “Go on.” 

“But you are correct regarding Lieutenant Olsen. Captain Pike and I deliberated for some time how we might bring you onto the Enterprise. But your presence would not go undetected. This ruled out suberfuge. And we could not devise a credible reason why you might accompany us, and certainly no reason why you should be left alone with me. And as the purpose for all this planning was to increase the time we spent together --,” 

Nyota nodded. “I want you. I want the Enterprise too, but not if we have to be chaperoned.” 

She kissed his cheek, tasted Spock’s satisfaction. 

“There is an alternative,” he told her. “I have security clearance to access the Enterprise surveillance systems, and could project a number of images onto the viewing screen in the recreation segment of this shuttle.” 

* * *

Spock returned her kiss, in order to understand why Nyota was taking so long to decide. A familiar flavour lingered on his tongue and warmed it, made him produce additional saliva. 

“It’s a very kind offer,” she said at last. “But I’m going to hold out for the real experience, and I will only accept you as tour guide.” 

“That may not be possible prior to your graduation.” 

“I’ll wait.” 

“Very well. Then this, as you say, is our ‘base’. Cadet Jadillu has access to the shuttle’s transporter, which means your return to campus would be instantaneous.” 

Nyota’s eyes opened wider. “I could stay here until tomorrow morning.” 

“Indeed.” 

Laughter emerged from her slowly, beginning with a smile, then a grin, a breath released sharply from her nose. Nyota shook her head as if she did not accept her own amusement. 

“You didn’t …,” she left off speaking to do more head shaking. He caught the point of her chin with his fingertips to hold her still. 

“I will need more information to confirm anything I did or did not do.” 

“Did Gaila suggest the Sojourner class?” 

“As it happens, Captain Pike made the suggestion. But Cadet Jadilla did endorse his choice with some enthusiasm.” 

“Is it true they all have one extendable bunk?” 


	32. Ladder

Technology Survey, the mandatory Starfleet Academy freshman year course, had an official syllabus. Also an apocryphal one. Cadets learned the former in the classroom, the latter in locker rooms or bars or, in Nyota’s case, over breakfast because that was Gaila’s time to evaluate her sexual experiences from the previous night.

“It’s not that I need a bed,” the Orion said between bites of pastry, “but if I have one, I expect a certain quality of mattress. Not thin and slippy -- that's like lying down on banana peel.”

Normally Nyota just listened. Maybe the mental image of a shuttle bunk covered in fruit skin was arresting. But more likely it was the certainty that, at some point during proceedings, either Gaila or her partner would get uncomfortable for reasons other than poor bedding.

“How?” Nyota asked.

She used her half slice of toast, cut on the horizontal, to represent her own experience. “Last week we had practicals in Hangar One; I tried the bunk in a Zodiac class. You were the one who told me those were wider. Wider? I nearly fell out turning on my side, so how the hell did you and Isansomee --,”

She stopped when Gaila took the toast out of her hand, set it down on her plate against the other half slice to make it whole.

“We’re talking Sojourner class here, Cadet Uhura. What do you know about those?”

Nyota loved to have her memory tested.

“Designed for long term survey work. Accommodation for maximum crew of six to work within the propulsion segment. The upper level Fusilage interior measures ten meters by nine divided by a central corridor. Starboard side contains RRH facilities and port side has space for a medical office and six bunks.”

“Seven,” Gaila said. She stuck by her statement even after Nyota showed her the page from her textbook.

“Check the blueprint index. Under the array of sample lockers, in the midsegment that divides the bunk cabins, see the wall compartment? It’s marked ‘Command access only’.”

“That's just a bunk?”

“Double width,” Gaila said. “Supposed to be Command prerogative whether the crew get to find out it exists or use it. Commissioned crew who know are told to keep it secret. So obviously, you never heard this from me.”

But Spock knew perfectly well where Nyota had acquired her information.

“I am concerned that Cadet Jadillu held an adverse opinion regarding the mattress,” he said.

“In her view, the double bunk was a Terran concession to our silly need for privacy during intercourse. She tells me the Sojourner’s pilot chair would be a better choice."

* * *

It was in the interest of research, as much as comfort, that they made their decision. Nyota wanted to climb the ladder into the upper fusilage and undress there. Spock agreed, though he trusted her attention to detail and doubted she would forget to take her bracelet or earrings or a bobby pin or any item which would prove she had been on board.

He activated shields and secured the hatch. Then he removed his own clothes, stowed them in the equipment locker. And he tried to identify the feeling, or perhaps it was a collection of feelings, that had to be processed as the soles of his feet learned the exact texture of the hull floor, when he felt circulated air travel over bare skin and when he settled in his chair without an intervening layer of uniform between the upholstery and his body.

Most illogical was an excitement specific to the fact they were using the chair for a purpose other than the one its designers intended.

 _Fascinating_.

That was his thought when Nyota descended, naked, her movements slow and careful because she had no boots on her feet to grip the ladder rungs.

* * *

Halfway down, Nyota paused to adjust her footing and noticed she had his attention.

“Computer,” she said, “do you have the song file for ‘Fluid' by Olivarann Shea?”


	33. Fiddly

Shea once told a radio interviewer that they wrote music as thank you gifts for their lovers. 

“Fluid” employed three instruments. The pedal harp played a repeating gliss of soft notes, swish sounds like surges of blood pumped from a heart. A flutter provided counterpoint. Layered over those were two Elanin singing stones with different vocal ranges. 

Nyota was convinced Shea composed it in memory of early morning foreplay. Her dance imitated sleepy shifts and stretches, one hand free to splay fingers over her body and explore, head still but mouth opening whenever the stones' song reminded her of those noises she could not control when the right hands touched her in the right places. 

The beginning of the piece was almost inaudible and the end unexpected. Nyota asked the computer to keep it on constant loop and danced through the first playing. Peeking between the rungs of the ladder she could see Spock struggle with his own urge to move, controlling everything except abdominal muscles that clenched his ass tight whenever she pressed herself against the ladder instead of him. 

In the silence between first and second playing she climbed down. She walked over to the pilot’s chair, felt with her foot underneath for the pedal that would lock the rotating base. Spock had followed her instructions, Gaila’s instructions, to lift and turn the armrests over so they faced the opposite direction and recline the backrest. Then it was clear what her roommate meant by ‘perfect knee cushions’ -- the upholstered extensions which had supported the armrests were ready to support her instead. 

Nyota observed, as she climbed onto them, how moving along their slope would gradually align the most important part of her body with the most important part of his. 

“I don’t know any shuttlecraft designers,” she said, shifting a little closer. “But if I did, I would ask whether they intended a dual purpose for this seat.” 

“Indeed,” Spock replied. “Shall I engage the footrest now?” 

“Please.” 

They listened to the mechanism drone as it lifted and locked into place. It gave Nyota the option to lean back and sit on his legs. 

“What is your assessment?” Spock asked, as she tested her weight with gentle bounces. The resulting telepathic exchange told her he liked to feel that pillow compression of her backside and she liked being tickled by the hairs on his thighs. 

“Well, obviously my final opinion cannot be made until later …,” 

“By which time I will not be able to give my own views.” 

“Oh …,” Nyota stopped bouncing and settled. Her weight parted his thighs a little, drew her attention to his testicles, pressed into a heart shape she badly wanted to trace round. “I think you will let me know how you feel.” 

Temptation was strong and yet she managed some resistance. Her hand slipped between his legs, a safe distance away but he was asking, through their skin, what would happen next. And what had she fastened to her bracelet? 

“Condom pouch,” she said. “Interesting to note that this selection appeared near the top of the replicator’s browsing history.” 

She reached down to open the bracelet. The silicon loop at the top of the pouch slipped off the clasp; gravity decided how the contents fell and rolled along his body. When the pouch stopped, it was appropriately nestled at the base of his beautiful reaction to her ladder dance. 

“This seal is fiddly to get open.” 

He knew from their skin contact that she lied. But Spocks's response was believing and sympathetic and grateful, moreover, for every slip of her fingers that nudged and brushed his erection while she pretended to struggle getting access to the pounch contents. 

She had replicated a three pack. Should be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure you have all guessed where we are headed here. I plan to stretch out this last bit of smut for as many chapters as I can get away with -- slow love is the best! I might be able to post another instalment before the weekend is over, either that or I will finally edit and post Chapter 2 of the newest Soul Possessions' story, "Pais Y Santos" like I promised last weekend.


	34. Seriously?

Curious. 

Twenty-four point eight seconds were needed to open the seal of the pouch. During that interval, a part of Spock’s mind attempted to travel forward in time and utilise memories of previous occasions where the use of a seminal barrier proved expedient for sexual activity. He visualised how Nyota’s hands would move to position the condom over the head of his _lok_ and the sensations she would provoke as she pressed and pulled to extend the sheath. 

Within seven seconds this forward thinking created erotic stimulation, supplementing what reality already provided. Spock found that he desired multiple visualisations. His imagination seemed fixed in a loop, like the music Nyota chose, replaying the glide of her fingertips and the particular pleasure of constriction moving down. 

When reality caught up with imagination, memory and sense perception aligned. The result …. 

* * *

Nyota put herself on pause. Spock could surprise her, let touch communicate one level of reaction and keep others in reserve for later. The condom was half fitted when he squeezed his eyes shut and she felt him expand in her grasp. 

All his fantasies came spilling out through his skin. They were penetrating; Nyota got a buzzy response round the mouth of her _uke_ and rolled her hips in appreciation. 

“Are you going to last?” she asked, on behalf of her own need. 

Spock did not react to her question but to his imagination, which did not want to stop what it had started. 

“Uncertain.” 

Not that it mattered. Her turn would come soon enough. She put herself on play again. Millimetre by slow millimetre, the condom edge unrolled; Spock squirmed and groaned. Once he was fully dressed for sex, she could not resist watching him come. She used her thumbs to knead the ridges on the underside of his erection, up and down and up and down. She sat down hard on his legs, making sure there was direct contact where she felt greatest desire so he would feel her skin recall the last time it got what it wanted. 

His mouth was beautiful in orgasm. His lower lip went slack, protruded like a pout and wobbled as he shook with convulsions of ejaculation. His eyes, when it was over, stayed closed. Nyota knew they would open again, as soon as his pout receded and his mouth resumed that perfect smooth of composure. 

* * *

The pilot’s chair proved its efficacy as an aid to coitus. No effort on their part was needed for deep penetration or friction. Therefore, Nyota had additional energy to expend by increasing the tempo of her rhythm as she rode him. Spock had not entirely recovered from his first loss of control. He wondered whether his present state of mind, neither fully rational or irrational but accepting of both, might be a close approximation of full humanity. 

He felt amused and self-satisfied. The condom blocked some of their skin to skin contact, and yet he had experienced her body enough to remember how the approach to climax was signalled by minute nerve reactions near the transverse tarsal joint of her ankles and the sacral region in her lower back, where his hand now rested. 

He felt her mouth was beautiful in orgasm. Her upper lip curled, as if gently stroked. He was tempted to touch, except her thrusts were steadily drawing him to climax, and might make his movements clumsy. 

The chair allowed her to collapse against him when sensations overwhelmed, safe in his embrace. 

* * *

“Computer,” she said softly, “end music.” 

They were left with few sounds. The shuttle, after all, was held to its docking position only on its starboard side. The rest was in space. Nyota could hear her breathing, his breathing, squeaks and creaks from the upholstery underneath them. 

“If we serve in Starfleet together – say for the next thirty years, what are our chances of making love in the pilot’s chair of a Sojourner shuttle again?” 

“Difficult to be precise,” Spock replied, treating the question as seriously as she hoped he might. “Every Galaxy class starship is supplied with two Sojourner models, and has capacity for an additional three. Routine security scans of the shuttlebays would make careful timing essential. The odds would not improve if we were part of a crew using the Sojourner for an away mission.” 

“Unless the rest of the crew were Orion,” she interrupted, and laughed. 

After a pause, he said, more seriously than she imagined he would. 

“Indeed.” 


	35. Thanks

“I was so grateful. All the work he did so we could be together, without anyone knowing.” 

Nyota responded with a silent ‘aw’. She also glanced across the simulator lab and through the open door into the corridor beyond. Three red uniforms passed at speed. First day back, first class – it seemed some cadets were struggling to resume routines after the holiday. 

Camrose Angwin continued his story. He came from a town in Wyoming called Mountain View, where there were no mountains or hills for that matter. Trees did not grow naturally. They had to be planted, usually close to houses to protect against wind and dust. The population was about 1500. If you were going to keep a relationship secret in a place like Mountain View, some creativity was required. 

One day Nyota hoped she could tell Camrose (or anybody) about the amazing planning which had succeeded in keeping her relationship under wraps during First Contact break. Just fifty-three minutes ago she had been transported from Earth's exosphere into the front entry of her apartment. Thanks to facilities on board the shuttle, she had already showered, dressed and breakfasted. With no roommate to waylay her (Gaila worked early shift in Computer Science), Nyota could stroll onto campus ahead of schedule, be the first student in her seat ready for Rudimentary Navigation. 

She expected to find Professor Abdulov there. But there was still no sign of her now, with only three minutes left before the Winter Timetable officially started. 

At the one minute mark, Gaila marched in through the open door. She went to the lectern and switched on the microphone. 

“Hello everyone,” she said, "welcome back. Professor Abdulov is fine, just running late. An ion storm delayed her flight from Vulcan --.” 

Then a second person entered the lab. Nyota shifted her eyes away fast, turned her attention to her PADD and kept it there. 

“-- so her morning classes will be covered by –- oh! Good morning, Commander.” 

“Good morning,” Spock replied. 

Camrose leaned towards Nyota and whispered, “Do they celebrate First Contact on Vulcan?” 

Nyota mouthed the word ‘sorry’ and pretended she had not heard. But Spock would have. Camrose must have caught the eye of their substitute teacher and decided it was better to drop the subject. 

“We will cover section three point nine-five in your syllabus,” Spock announced. “Sub-atmospheric flight simulation, hovercraft models, descent and landing.” 

* * *

  
It was Cadet Jadillu's duty to review the simulator assessments as they were completed, and bank results in the Academy's grading system. 

“Top marks for Cadet Uhura, sir” she said. This announcement was not for Spock’s benefit, since he could see the same data on his own PADD. “Eighty-seven is a good first attempt.” 

Cadet Angwin, whose best grade was eighty-one, stood up, patted the top of Nyota’s simulator terminal and said, “I’ve gotta get in earlier next time, so I can nab this machine.” 

This assertion amused both him and Nyota. They wished each other a good day, after which Angwin left. Only three people remained in the laboratory. 

“Strictly speaking,” Nyota said to his teaching assistant, “it was my second attempt.” 

Spock responded to that remark by turning his back on both women and facing the chair behind the lecturn. Cadet Jadillu had provided it. He had been determined to begin the lesson on time, and removed his coat along with other cold weather accessories while he addressed the class. The chair received those clothes. 

As he lifted the coat and put his arm inside one sleeve, he heard Gaila say, “Do tell.” 

And Nyota replied, “I … uh, I got the chance to fly a hoverpod. Supervised, of course.” 

“Of course,” Gaila replied. “They’re cosy little things, aren’t they?” 

Nyota changed the subject. “What time will you finish work?” 

“Eighteen hundred thirty, maybe.” 

“Want to meet me at Pier 39?” 

“You mean, do I want to meet you at Sandia Sangria?” 

“I might mean that …,” 

He appreciated the dialogue. It deliberately excluded him, a precaution because the laboratory door remained open for students attending the next class at eleven hundred hours. They might assume he was indulging his teaching assistant by loitering, when in fact he was enjoying Nyota’s proximity without attracting suspicion. 

He felt it would be safe to face her once his coat was buttoned, with his scarf and hat covering most of his head. 

“Cadet Jadillu --,” 

“Sir --,” Gaila interrupted. She pointed at the seat of his chair. “Are those new gloves?” 

“Commendable attention to detail,” Spock remarked. “I did not think my apparel choices worthy of your notice.” 

“Sir, fashion consciousness never motivates your apparel choices.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Until now. I mean … Chester Jeffries? It’s not like you to even go shopping.” 

“I happened to spend a night at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Lake Tahoe. There is a small galleria in the lobby. It seemed as convenient to purchase replacement gloves there as to replicate them.” 

“Replacement?” 

* * *

Nyota took Gaila to three different bars along Pier 39, including Sandia Sangria, bought whatever drinks she wanted. They were interrupted a lot, as usual – plenty of people wanted to get their name added to an Orion’s dating list. Gaila let herself be charmed into a couple of dances during the band session at Treacy’s, but nothing more. 

That wasn’t submission to any rules Nyota set before they went out. The evening was a thank-you gift for all her roommate's hard work, and no restraint should be asked from the one being thanked. As for herself, Nyota did restrict herself to altair water and decaf Mo Cola. It seemed the best way to guarantee she would not slip up, the way Spock had done after Rudimentary Navigation. He gave Gaila just enough information to make her ask (over and over) a question Nyota would not answer. 

“What happened to his old gloves?” 

THE END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Readers, hoped you enjoyed "2929 Lake Terrace Avenue". Dyed in the wool Original Series fans probably recognised that this street address was chosen in homage to Leonard Nimoy, who owned a second home at 2930 which had to be sold shortly before his death.
> 
> The "Missing Pieces" series will take a break now. I want to give more attention to part 7 of "Soul Possessions". You'll notice I did not say 'give my full attention'. The year long gap I took from university studies is ending -- on 9th September the website for my English lit survey course opens and it will be challenging to meet that timetable and write fanfiction.
> 
> Your consolation is this: fanfiction preserves my sanity (more or less), so I HAVE to write. Some how, some way, there will be more Spuhura.
> 
> Please keep well, everybody.


End file.
